by H. Y. Hanna
“Arrrgh! Rocco had it and you let it escape!” cried Gertrude angrily. She rushed towards the bat again, swinging her broom.
The fruit bat took off, flying jerkily around the room, desperately searching for an escape route. Caitlyn rushed to the windows and flung them open, then stood back and shouted:
“Viktor! Over here!”
The little bat turned and swerved towards her, making a beeline for the open window and freedom. It swooped in a downward arc to avoid the swinging broom, but just as it was rising again the terrier lunged suddenly and sank his teeth into one of the bat’s wings.
Caitlyn screamed. Rocco growled triumphantly as he clamped his jaws down hard and shook his head, flinging his prey from side to side. The fruit bat squeaked in alarm as it struggled to get free, flapping its other wing uselessly.
“NO! NO! LET HIM GO!” shouted Caitlyn, rushing forwards, not caring anymore about whether the dog might bite her.
She reached out to grab the terrier and just as her hands touched his fur, something tingled at the tips of her fingers. There was a dazzle of bright light, a crackling noise, and then the barking stopped as if shut off by a switch.
The bat gave a faint squeak as it was suddenly released. It flapped clumsily up to the window ledge, climbed out, and disappeared.
There was silence in the cottage as Caitlyn stared in horror at what was in front of her. It was Rocco the terrier, with his eyes bulging and his mouth open and his teeth bared… in smooth milk chocolate.
“Rocco?” gasped Gertrude Smith, rushing over and crouching down next to the chocolate dog. “Oh my God, what have you done to my dog?”
“I… I…” Caitlyn stumbled backwards. She didn’t know what to say. “I… I don’t know…”
Turning blindly, she ran out of the cottage. Panic surged through her. What had she done? Could the spell be reversed? Could Rocco be turned back? She should have tried but she had no idea what she was doing and she was scared.
The Widow Mags, she thought suddenly. Her grandmother would know what to do. She was sure the old witch would be able to reverse the spell and fix everything.
Caitlyn started towards her car, then faltered to a stop as she remembered Viktor. She rushed around the cottage until she reached the outside of the kitchen windows and looked frantically around for him but she couldn’t see a fruit bat—or a balding old man—anywhere. She shifted from foot to foot in an agony of indecision. She wanted to look for Viktor—what if he was injured and bleeding badly?—but she had no idea where to start searching. He could have been in the woods anywhere and it might take her hours to find him. And in the meantime… She bit her lip and glanced at Gertrude Smith’s cottage. She couldn’t leave Rocco like that… She had no idea how such spells worked, but maybe if he wasn’t changed back within a certain window of time, he would “set” permanently as a chocolate dog.
Making up her mind, Caitlyn hurried towards her car. She would go and get help, then come back and search for Viktor as soon as she could.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Caitlyn burst into the kitchen at Bewitched by Chocolate, flushed and breathless. She was relieved to see the Widow Mags at her usual place beside the large wooden table, a chocolate-covered spatula in one hand and a bowl in the other. Bertha was sitting on the other side of the table, sipping a cup of tea, and both women looked up in surprise as she came barrelling through the back door.
“Quick! You’ve got to come… quickly… Rocco… I… I don’t know what I did… the chocolate… can you change him back…?”
Bertha sprang up in concern. “I don’t understand, dear—what are you talking about? Who’s Rocco?”
Caitlyn waved her hands hysterically. “Gertrude… Gertrude Smith… he was going for Viktor… I thought he would kill him... but I didn’t mean—”
“Calm down, girl—we can’t understand a word you’re saying,” said the Widow Mags. “Stop talking and take a deep breath.”
Somehow, her grandmother’s sharp reprimand did more to calm her than her aunt’s gentle words. Caitlyn gulped and obeyed the Widow Mags. She took a shuddering breath, then let it out slowly, and felt her pulse steady. Taking another deep breath, she began to talk rapidly:
“I… I’ve put some kind of spell on Rocco—that’s Gertrude Smith’s terrier… she’s one of the new tenants… I didn’t do it on purpose, it just happened! He grabbed Viktor and had his wing in his mouth—Viktor had sneaked into the cottage in his bat form—I told him not to follow me!—and he was stealing from Gertrude Smith’s fruit bowl but Rocco must have found him… and… and then there was total mayhem… and Gertrude was shrieking and I was terrified Rocco would hurt Viktor, so I reached out… and then I felt this… this thing at the tips of my fingers…”
She faltered to a stop as she saw that both women were staring at her, completely befuddled. Taking another deep breath, she tried again, this time telling the whole story from the beginning and forcing herself to speak slowly. When she finally finished, she looked desperately at the Widow Mags.
“You can fix it, can’t you? You can undo the spell?”
The old witch put down the spatula and walked over to the kitchen sink to wash her hands. “Yes, I should be able to undo it—but I’ll have to see the dog first.”
“What about Gertrude?” asked Caitlyn. “How are we going to explain it to her if she sees you turning a chocolate statue back into her dog?”
“Don’t you worry about that,” said Bertha, rising from her seat. “I’ll make her a nice cuppa and she won’t remember a thing.”
“But—” Caitlyn started to protest.
“Stop fussing, child, and take us to the dog,” said the Widow Mags.
Caitlyn gave up. She drove them at breakneck speed back to Gertrude Smith’s cottage and they arrived to find the front door open. As they walked in, they nearly bumped into the woman herself hurrying out. She was carrying a suitcase and she scowled as she saw Caitlyn.
“You! Get out of here, you witch! You did something to my dog—”
“Now, now, there’s no need to get excited,” said Bertha, sounding like a nursery school teacher talking to a toddler having a tantrum. “It will all be sorted.”
“What do you mean, ‘it will all be sorted’?” the other woman retorted. “Have you seen my dog? He’s been turned into bloody chocolate!”
“Oh, surely not?” said Bertha cheerfully. “You must be imagining it.”
“I am not imagining it!” spluttered Gertrude Smith. “If you don’t believe me, I’ll show you. Come inside!”
Bertha gave Caitlyn a wink as the other woman turned to lead them into the cottage. When they entered the dining room, Caitlyn winced. It looked like vandals had been through it with a sledgehammer. Broken china lay on the floor, a chair was overturned, fruit was scattered everywhere… and there, in the corner next to his bed, was Rocco the terrier—or rather, a chocolate replica of him—standing frozen in a pose of aggressive attack.
“There! You see?” Gertrude pointed an accusing finger. “He’s… he’s… he’s been turned to chocolate! But he can’t be, right? I mean, how can a dog turn into chocolate? Oh God, first Rochat and the vampire… now this… am I going mad?”
“There, there…” said Bertha, catching hold of the other woman’s arm and steering her towards a chair at the dining table. “It’s almost four o’clock. Let’s have a nice cup of tea, shall we?”
Gertrude shook her arm off roughly. “I don’t want a bloody cup of tea! I want an explanation! What’s she done to my dog?” She glared at Caitlyn, who shrank back. “He was such a brilliant guard dog too. Now what am I going to do?”
Caitlyn had been feeling a bit sorry for the woman but now her sympathy vanished. Gertrude Smith’s distress didn’t seem to be for the dog himself but rather for her own selfish needs. Bertha ignored her and went into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a steaming mug, which she thrust at Gertrude.
“Here, drink this; I promise you’ll
feel better.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Gertrude snapped. “It’s my dog! It’s—”
“Just drink up,” said Bertha in a firmer voice.
To Caitlyn’s surprise, the other woman took the mug. Maybe there was magic involved… or maybe it was simply Bertha’s manner—she reminded Caitlyn of a motherly but brisk, no-nonsense nanny from childhood, whom you obeyed without question. Gertrude Smith obediently began to drink the hot tea. A moment later, she set the half-finished mug down with a sigh.
“I need to finish packing…” she mumbled, making a motion to rise. “I need to go—”
Bertha pushed her gently back into the chair. “There’s no rush. Why don’t you just rest for a moment, hmm? I’m sure you must feel tired after all the excitement earlier.”
“I do feel exhausted now that you mention it…” Gertrude admitted, sinking back into the chair. She gave a great yawn… then another, and leaned her elbows on the table. “…almost feel like having a nap…”
“Well, why don’t you?” asked Bertha pleasantly.
“…but the packing…” Gertrude mumbled, as her head drooped lower and lower. “…need to get out… place is getting too hot…” She flopped onto the table with her head on her arms and, the next moment, she was fast asleep.
“Wow,” said Caitlyn. “What was in that tea?”
“Oh, nothing that will harm her,” said Bertha with a smile. She patted her pocket. “Lucky I had a couple of sachets of special herbal tea with me… she’ll just have a little sleep and wake up refreshed and relaxed—and none the wiser.”
The Widow Mags walked over to the chocolate terrier and picked it up. Caitlyn watched as the old witch examined the dog.
“Can you restore him?” she asked anxiously.
“Hmm… it would have been easier if I knew what spell you used. As it is, I will have to guess…” She rolled up her sleeves, held out her hands over the chocolate terrier, and chanted:
“Unknown spell, I hereby quell,
Unknown magic, I render static,
Unknown charm, I now disarm,
Undo thyself, Leave no harm!”
There was a humming sound and the chocolate dog glowed suddenly, then—like snow melting—the chocolate peeled away from the tops of his ears, down his muzzle, along his back, and to the tip of his tail. A moment later, a snarling terrier stood in front of them.
“YAP-YAP-YAP-YAP-YAP!”
“Huh?” Gertrude Smith started awake and looked around in bewilderment. Then her eyes fell on the terrier. “Rocco!” she cried. She sprang up from the chair and looked at them accusingly. “You’ve changed him back!”
“I’m sorry? I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” said Bertha.
Gertrude pointed at the dog. “My dog had been turned to chocolate.”
“Chocolate?” Bertha gave a trill of laughter. “What nonsense! How can a dog be turned into chocolate?”
“He was! He was completely stiff, like a chocolate statue—”
“I think you must have had a dream,” said Bertha. “It’s quite common when you have a nap in the heat—”
“I didn’t have a nap!” snapped Gertrude. “And I didn’t dream it! I’m telling you, I saw it with my own eyes. And anyway, what are you doing in my house?”
“Oh, we were just walking past and happened to see your front door open. We were worried—you know, what with the murder that’s happened recently and you being a woman living on your own—so we came in to check on you,” said Bertha. “You were lying there, with your head on the table, fast asleep.”
“I… I was?” Gertrude turned to look at the table, for the first time uncertain. “But I could have sworn…”
“Well, not to worry. We can see that you’re fine so we’ll leave you now,” said Bertha brightly, turning to hustle Caitlyn and the Widow Mags out of the kitchen. “Enjoy the rest of your afternoon!”
They left Gertrude Smith still staring at her dog in bewilderment and hurried out of the cottage.
“Wow,” whispered Caitlyn, eyeing her aunt with admiration. “I thought Pomona was a brilliant liar but you’d give her a run for her money!”
Bertha laughed modestly. “I try not to make a habit of it.”
As they walked away from Gertrude Smith’s cottage and headed for her car, Caitlyn was surprised to realise that it was already late afternoon. Somehow the day had run away from her. She’d had such a late breakfast that she hadn’t felt hungry at lunchtime, but now she felt her stomach rumble.
“Some food and a cup of hot chocolate for you, young lady,” said Bertha, eyeing her shrewdly. “Come on—I’ll make you something when we get back to the chocolate shop. Mum’s just made a fresh batch of chocolate fudge brownies.”
“Wait! What about Viktor?” cried Caitlyn, suddenly remembering. “He’s hurt—we’ve got to find him!”
“I thought you said he escaped through the window?” said Bertha.
“Yes, but not until after Rocco took a chunk out of his wing.”
“Was he bleeding? Could he still fly?”
“I didn’t see any blood,” Caitlyn admitted. “And yes, he was flying—sort of. He was a bit lopsided but he did manage to get up through the window and take off. I searched a bit around the cottage before I came to get you but I couldn’t see him anywhere.”
“That means he was well enough to fly into the woods,” said Bertha.
“That old bat’s been in worse scrapes than this,” said the Widow Mags. “Don’t worry—he’ll be fine.”
“But—”
“Vampires have extraordinary healing abilities,” Bertha explained. “It is one of the reasons they live so long. And bat wing membrane is one of the fastest healing tissues, even in nature. Don’t worry—I’m sure Viktor can take care of himself. If he hasn’t turned up by tomorrow, then you can worry.”
Caitlyn cast a last look into the woods, then sighed. “All right. But if I don’t hear from him by tomorrow morning, I’m going to come back here and search the woods for him.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
When Caitlyn returned to the Manor that evening, she wondered where Pomona was. She hadn’t seen her cousin all day and was bursting to tell her everything that had happened.
The new butler greeted her at the door.
“Miss Sinclair?” he replied when she asked about Pomona. “I believe she has gone up to her room to change for dinner. Lord Fitzroy’s London guests arrived this afternoon and there is to be a formal meal in the Dining Room.”
Caitlyn realised guiltily that she had forgotten about the new guests and dinner that night. As she started climbing up the sweeping staircase, she worried if she had packed anything she could wear to a formal dinner. When she reached the door of the room she shared with Pomona, however, her steps faltered. The memory of their fight yesterday came back to her. Would Pomona still give her the silent treatment?
For a moment, she felt a surge of irritation at her cousin again, then she paused and admitted that perhaps they had both been at fault. Now that she was calmer, she knew that Pomona had meant well and had spoken out of genuine concern, not jealousy. It had been very flattering, getting all that attention, and her ego had been bruised by her cousin’s suggestion that Antoine de Villiers hadn’t been sincere. But it wasn’t worth fighting with her best friend. She would swallow her pride, apologise to Pomona, and make up.
Caitlyn turned the door handle and stepped into the bedroom. Her cousin was standing, looking out of the window, but she turned swiftly at the sound of the door.
Caitlyn gave her a tentative smile. “Hi…”
“Hi…” Pomona said in return.
There was a strained silence for a moment, then both girls started speaking at once.
“Pomona, I’m sorry about yesterday—”
“Oh Caitlyn! I was just gonna come and look for you! I wanted to apologise—”
Both of them stopped and stared at each other, then gave an embarrassed laugh.
>
“You were coming to apologise?” said Caitlyn.
“Just this one time,” said Pomona quickly. “Don’t think it’s gonna become a regular occurrence.”
Caitlyn grinned. She was incredibly touched. “Thanks, Pomie. And… and I’m sorry for what I said yesterday—I know you’re just watching out for me… I don’t want us fighting just because of some guy.”
“No,” Pomona agreed. “No guy’s ever gonna come between us.” She ran over and flung her arms around Caitlyn, squeezing her in a tight hug. “Oh Caitlyn! I’ve missed you!”
“I’ve missed you too,” said Caitlyn, hugging her back. Then she let go, saying excitedly, “I’ve got so much to tell you!”
Quickly she filled Pomona in on what she’d been up to. “I just hope Viktor’s okay,” she finished at last with a sigh.
“He’ll be all right,” said Pomona. “He’s a tough old cookie.” She flopped down on her bed and leaned back on her hands, looking up at Caitlyn with a smug smile. “You’re not the only one who’s been busy sleuthing today, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“I got chatting to one of the police sergeants hanging around the crime scene… very young… very cute…” Pomona grinned.
Caitlyn looked at her cousin in disbelief. “You seduced one of Inspector Walsh’s men?”
“Who said anything about seduction? I just gave him a smile as I was walking past…”
Caitlyn shook her head wryly. She knew all about Pomona’s famous smiles. One look and most men were goners. Especially young, impressionable men.
“So what did he tell you?”
“He said he loved my voice… and my eyes were bluer than the Mediterranean Sea… and if I was free next weekend, he knew this great place in Cheltenham—”
“Pomie!”
“All right, all right,” said her cousin, grinning. “He told me the results of the autopsy.”
