The Wonkiest Witch
Page 7
I blew the air out of my lungs in one long breath, scattering the memories. “That’s complicated,” I answered. “The thing is, witchcraft is an innate ability, but it is also something that can be learned and practised. I have the powers within me, so I can cast spells, and practise kinesis and communicate in strange ways, but I lack training in certain skills, such as potions and herblore and the like. You witnessed something very instinctive and primeval earlier. Most of what I can do comes directly from my intent. I control those basic abilities. And I keep them well hidden.”
“But in an emergency they break out?”
“It certainly appears to be that way.” I fiddled with my wine glass. Jed reached for the bottle and topped up my glass, but not his own. He was driving of course.
“What abilities do you have?”
“As you saw, moving objects. As a kid I used to play practical jokes on other people – shifting objects, hiding things in plain sight. That was a bit naughty. Oh and I loved to communicate with animals – that was fun. I can communicate with spirits too, but that can be less fun, but it does mean I’m not scared of the dark, or of the dead. That’s why I don’t mind staying here alone in the inn, in spite of the fact that everyone thinks I shouldn’t.”
“Yes, they all think you’re exceptionally brave and perhaps a bit crazy in the village.”
“Do they?”
“They do. But by all accounts, many of the older ones thought the same way about your father and grandmother so you’re in good company.”
I smiled at the thought. “That’s fair enough.”
“So what can’t you do?”
I rolled my eyes. “If I told you that, you’d know my weaknesses.” I was joking but I considered the question anyway. Where was my training lacking? “I’m not a great spellcaster. My father and mother were both incredible, although my mother rarely used spells. She said they were dangerous. That they could be put to heinous uses. So I can’t curse people, and thanks to my mother, I would always be very careful about using magick for my own benefit.”
“You can’t make yourself wealthy then?”
“Perhaps I could, but I’ve never tried. You should have seen the hovel I was living in, up in London. Hospitality pays peanuts, even in our grand capital. I had a room in a house that was smaller than my mother’s cottage and in a far worse state. And besides, in many ways I am wealthy now. I have this,” I gestured around me at the inn.
“Huge potential.”
“Me or the inn?” I smirked playfully.
“Ha ha,” Jed replied and slid over on the step to sit closely to me, our hips and shoulders touching. “Definitely both. I think you’ll get this place back on its feet in no time.”
“I admire your confidence. I just hope I can pay the bills,” I said. “And sometimes I worry that I won’t be able to run it.”
“You have to trust in yourself. That’s half the battle.”
“That’s true.”
“Hoo hoo,” the deep timbre of an owl from close by echoed my words.
Jed almost jumped out of his skin. I placed my right hand gently on his left forearm to stop him moving too quickly. “There,” I directed softly, “to your right. It’s a friend of mine.”
Jed peered into the gloom and did a double take when he finally spotted the owl, perching on the guttering above the bowed bay window. “Wow,” he whispered. “Your friend?”
“He often visits.”
“He? Do you have a name for him?”
“Why would I name him? He names himself.”
“You know it’s a he though?”
“Yes.” I did.
“What is his name then?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I haven’t asked him.”
“So ask him now.”
Part of me obstinately wanted to refuse. I wasn’t a child doing a party trick, and I didn’t particularly want to show off my skills, but the other part of me was curious too.
“You ask him,” I said. “But don’t alarm him.”
“He speaks English?”
“He speaks owl, but like I told you just now, magick is all about the intention.”
Jed pursed his lips and looked at me, then back at the owl. “Hey, Mr Owl. What’s your name?”
The owl’s eyes flicked our way. It studied Jed warily and remained quiet. I smiled at it. “What is your name?” I asked. “I’d like to know too.”
His head swivelled. “Hoo-ooo. Hoo-ooo. Hoo-ooo. Hoo-ooo.”
“What did he say?” asked Jed.
“Grimbleweed Clutterbeak.”
“You’re pulling my leg, right?”
I laughed in delight. “He said you can call him Mr Hoo.”
“Well, Mr Hoo,” Jed turned back to the owl and bowed his head, “we’re honoured.”
“Hoo-ooo. Hoo-ooo. Hoo oooo.”
“He is too,” I said.
But the owl hadn’t said that at all. He’d told me to take care.
Last thing that evening, I stood in front of the window staring at the woods and wondering about Mr Hoo, when my attention was grabbed by something out there. The hair on the back of my neck prickled as I stepped closer to the glass, and turned the bedside-light out in order to see better. I imagined for a moment I spotted a twirling red light in the wood, about the size and shape of a disco ball. It appeared to hover in the air for a while, before shooting backwards and disappearing under the cover of the foliage. I watched and waited, but when I didn’t see it again I decided it must have been my imagination.
Nonetheless, my heart hammered in my chest for a long time before I was finally able to fall asleep, and my dreams were haunted by a man wearing a sparkling red ring.
The following evening, we managed to bust through the false wall in the inn’s main room. As Jed had surmised, the bar had one been one huge room at some stage, but had been partitioned to create store rooms next door to the kitchen. With the partition down, the bar became a large L-shape. The added bonus was finding a huge fireplace behind the plasterboard. In fact, it was so big, both Jed and I could stand where the grate would be and stare up the chimney.
“Do you think it’s functioning?” I asked as Jed craned his head backwards.
“Not at the moment, but I reckon if we get someone on the roof, and a sweep down here, they’ll be able to tell us.”
“Do chimney sweeps still exist?” I asked, incredulous at the idea.
Jed laughed. “Yes, of course. I don’t think anyone’s invented a self-cleaning chimney just yet.”
“Oh they have. It’s called central heating.” I smirked a little. “What about little chimney sweep boys?”
“Not seen since Mary Poppins.”
We giggled together and stepped away from the chimney. It had been a good day’s work. I had started setting up some systems on my laptop to keep an eye on finances and begun planning for work on the inn and the cottages in the village. After lunch, I had pulled more wallpaper off. I enjoyed this process – pulling layer after layer of the past away and discarding each, ready for a new start.
I shook dust out of my hair, feeling more than a little tired. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s getting on and I haven’t even thought about making something to eat.”
“Hey, no problem!” Jed said. “I don’t expect you to cook for me just cos I’m over here in the evening.”
“I know, but …”
“No buts. Look, let’s just head down to The Hay Loft and see what they have on the menu. The food can be a bit hit and miss, but you can’t go too wrong with a toasted sandwich.”
Reluctantly I agreed, and after a quick wash and spruce up, I joined Jed outside. “Your carriage awaits, milady,” Jed bowed, and raising my eyebrows I clambered into his beaten up van. The vehicle was old enough to start with, but the local conditions made sure it looked far worse. I imagined that driving through the lanes around Whittlecombe in anything larger than a Fiat 500, was liable to lead to the occasional prang or scratch.
I didn’t need a sixth sense to realise I’d attracted someone’s attention, and I turned to notice a large man with a red face glowering in the doorway. He had a German Shepherd dog on a lead, and both were regarding me in a less than friendly manner.
“Hello,” I said, determined not to feel intimidated in the face of such apparent hostility.
The man sniffed and led the dog inside, disappearing behind the bar area and out of sight. Two minutes later he returned.
“Alright, Lyle?” Jed said.
“Jed.” Lyle nodded, his face impassive. “What can I get you?”
“A couple of pints of Otter, please, mate. I said I’d introduce Alf here to the delights of the local brewery.”
“What are you doing hanging about with her?” Lyle asked, as though I wasn’t standing within hearing distance. Jed frowned. “You an item?” Lyle prompted.
“I’m doing some work for Alf. She’s new here. I wanted to make her feel welcome. Is that okay?”
“Well, I don’t know. Is it?”
“Lyle—”
“There’s no need for competition in a place the size of Whittlecombe, is there? It’s damaging for my business.”
“Oh, come on, Lyle. Whittle Inn has been here for centuries. If anything it has more right to exist than The Hay Loft.”
“That’s as maybe, but it closed down for a reason. People want something more upmarket. They’re not going to get that at Whittle Inn.”
Jed opened his mouth to respond, but I nudged him. “Come on,” I said. “We can sit outside.”
Jed paid for the drinks and Lyle glared at me. “That place is a death trap,” he said. “It wouldn’t surprise me if it burned to the ground.”
I bristled with indignation, but Jed nudged me with his elbow and I followed him out to the beer garden. I could tell by the set of Jed’s jaw that he was fuming too, and as soon as we found a table, he apologised.
“Oh don’t be daft,” I sighed. “If I had been the only inn in business for the past few years, I suppose I’d feel a tad gutted I was facing new competition too.”
“He feels threatened by you.”
“By my inn, yes. But I’m no threat to him. And I’m not sure the inn is, in reality.”
Jed looked at me thoughtfully. “Does it make you feel bad, knowing there are people who don’t want you to succeed.”
“It’s not the best feeling in the world, I’ll admit. But I’m not doing it for them.”
“Are there many here in the village who have been rude to you? People who have …”
“Looked at me like I don’t belong? Like I’m not wanted?” I bit my lip and considered my recent dealings with locals. “On the whole everybody has been welcoming. Just this Lyle character. Oh, and my surveyor was a weird one. Very unfriendly. And then there was Talbot-Lloyd. He was particularly charming.”
“Enough to wish you harm?” Jed asked with concern, but I shook my head.
“Surely not. Like I said. Their bile is directed at the inn, not at me personally.” I wasn’t entirely convinced of this myself, remembering Talbot-Lloyd’s remarks about my relative youth.
“Okay, so they may not want to harm you, but they would be pleased to see the inn languish and never re-open.”
“I can’t know that for sure.”
“The murder …”
“We can’t assume it was a murder, we don’t know the facts yet.”
“But it’s a possibility,” Jed insisted. “Someone may have left a body on your back step as a message. Maybe they want you to think twice about opening the inn.”
Of course, the thought had crossed my mind.
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” I reiterated. “When the police have something concrete to tell me, I’m sure they’ll let me know.”
The encounter with Lyle left a bad taste in my mouth, so it was no wonder that I spent half the night awake with indigestion. Sometime around three in the morning, I hauled myself blearily out of bed to visit the bathroom. The light of the moon illuminated my surroundings so I didn’t bother with a light, but I nearly jumped out of my skin when a pale face bobbed into view, and I realised there was a woman standing in the doorway to my bedroom. Dressed in a dark evening gown, with her hair elaborately coiled around her head, she seemed vaguely familiar.
“Did I startle you?” she asked as my shriek died away.
“Just a bit! How did you get in here?” I backed towards the bed, feeling for my dressing gown.
She looked around puzzled. “Through the front door, I imagine. I can’t remember.”
“You can’t remember?”
“It was some time ago.”
“You can’t just walk around my home without a by-your-leave.” I pulled my robe around me and tightened the cord.
“Your home?” The woman’s tone turned haughty. “I think you’ll find this is my home.”
I took another look at what she was wearing and the paleness of her skin, and realised exactly what had happened.
“You can’t be here,” I said obstinately.
“What do you mean? Clearly I can be here, because I am. It is you who shouldn’t be here.”
“You’re a ghost,” I said.
“Absurd,” the woman retorted, dancing further into the room.
“I didn’t summon you so you should not be here,” I tried to explain as kindly as I could.
Kindness didn’t cut her mustard. “What an outrage! I did not summon you. You’re the ghost and you are the one who should not be here. And sleeping in my bed.” She drew herself up to her full height and glared at me, her dark eyes sparkling.
I opened my mouth to protest and then closed it again. Her bed? Had she been planning on sleeping here? With me?
I reached out a tentative hand to touch her, but my fingers found only air.
“Look around,” I said. “What do you see? Do you see your room as it should be?”
The woman tutted and whirled around, her skirts flying. “Yes. Yes. Of course.” But then she faltered. I watched as she moved to the edge of the room and examined where I had peeled the wallpaper away. “What’s the meaning of this? Did you do this? I had that paper hand painted by a Chinese artist. It was very expensive.” She scowled my way before taking a few steps sideways. “And where is my dresser?”
In frustration, she rounded on me. “What is the meaning of this? I’ll call Lulubelle and have you removed.” She reached for something, perhaps a pull for a bell that might once have brought a servant running, but that was long gone. She paused, her hand in the air, staring at me with sudden fear. “It’s gone. Everything has changed. Except the bed. That’s the same. In the same place.”
“I’m sorry,” I said softly. I wasn’t sure, but I imagined it might be tough to find out you’re both dead and a ghost.
“Oh,” she said and her shoulders sagged. “I’ve been awake for so long. I’m feeling so tired. I just wanted to lie down.”
“You can lie here,” I indicated the bed. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be back in a minute.”
She stepped past me and sat on the bed. I closed the door of the en suite bathroom, and when I opened it again, she had gone.
The next morning, before breakfast, I headed up to the attic and the paintings I’d found there. On the top of the pile was the portrait of the woman who had visited me in the night. I recognised her instantly by the elaborate coils of braids wrapped tightly on her head. She was an imposing looking woman, not someone you would want to mess with, but even so, there was a vulnerability in her eyes. I dragged the frame out from beneath the sheet and gave her a quick wipe with a duster. At the foot of the frame was a small gold plaque bearing the legend ‘Alfhild Gwynfyre Daemonne’. With a rush of em
otion, I realised this had to be my great grandmother.
I felt sad about the encounter, and wished I’d had more time to talk to her. This proved, as I’d suspected, that the ghosts of my ancestors did indeed walk the halls of Whittle Inn. If I wanted to, I could summon them to keep me company.
But why would I want to? I had no need of ghosts or witchcraft. I was fine the way I was.
Hearing a car pull up on the gravel drive outside the inn later that day, I thought nothing of it, expecting Jed to arrive at any moment. It was a surprise therefore when I trotted down the now completely carpetless stairs to come face to face with Detective Gilchrist.
“Hi,” I greeted him. “Do you have news?”
He smiled to see me covered in sawdust and flecks of dry paint. I’d been attempting to sand down the doors in my office, but given the sheer number of layers of old paint and varnish I figured I was going to require some super-sanding machine of some kind.
“I do have news after a fashion. Is there somewhere we can sit?”
Deciding it wouldn’t be the done thing to invite a detective to take a seat on the front step, I led him towards the bar and the stools that had taken up residence there. He perched, and gazed across at the empty bar area behind me. Jed and I had stripped back the plasterboard and revealed the old mirrors. It looked much like a proper old pub now. “I feel as though I should be ordering a drink,” Gilchrist said.
“Coffee would be the best I can manage today,” I replied, turning for the kitchen but Gilchrist stopped me.
“No, no, I’m fine, thanks. Not long had one.”
“Okay. Well hopefully the inn will be up and running in a few months and you’ll be able to order a drink for real. I’ll invite you to the opening do.”
“That will be great. I’ll be here.”
“Excellent.” I hopped up on my stool next to him. “So what can I do for you?”