Toby jumped out from the flowers, wrinkling his nose. “They’re making me sneeze!” he complained.
“I honestly think that’s the least of your worries,” she said, reaching for his lead and unclipping him so that he could continue on his way unencumbered. “Come on, we have to rush.”
Clarissa surveyed her poor shopping choices with a wry grimace. The kettle was boiling away on the stove, gently whistling to itself. Toby had accepted a bowl of dog food, although he’d been seriously holding out for a sandwich. Clarissa had settled for toast, but it remained on the plate in front of her, untouched. Her stomach felt queasy with nerves.
“I want us to revisit what we know about The Pointy Woman and Old Joe,” she said finally, stirring a teabag into a mug of hot water and turning off the stove.
She led Toby into the living room and stood in front of the empty fireplace, gesturing at the mantelpiece. “What was it she took from the carriage clock on the day she was here?”
The clock on the mantelpiece stared at them, its face solemn, stopped at twenty past eight.
“I didn’t see,” lamented Toby. “I didn’t even know Old Joe kept anything in there. It’s a bit high for me to be able to look into.” Toby thought back to the day he’d been here with The Pointy Woman. It seemed so long ago, and parts of his memory were hazy. He’d blocked so much of it out. “I’m sorry. I don’t feel like I’m much use.”
“You were scared,” Clarissa said. “It’s fine.” She peered down at the sad little dog with concern, placed her mug on the mantelpiece next to the clock and then squatted down next to Toby. “You know, if you’re not averse to me using a bit of magick—”
Toby wobbled his head. What was she suggesting? He’d been at the receiving end of The Pointy Woman’s magick, and while it hadn’t turned out too badly, who knew what spell she thought she’d been casting or how it should have ended up?
All he knew was that essentially, her magick had backfired. And if it had happened to her, it could happen to Clarissa who had yet to prove to him that her skills as a witch were tickety-boo.
“Well…” he hesitated.
Clarissa motioned him to get up on the sofa. “I’ll be very gentle, I promise.”
“I won’t end up being able to do something I couldn’t do before? Like, talk to humans?”
Clarissa smirked. “Hopefully I’ll get this right.” She stroked his head. As pleasurable as this was, Toby remembered how The Pointy Woman had tapped Old Joe on the head, and he shivered.
“Shh,” Clarissa soothed him with her touch and soft voice. “It’s alright. This is just a little ‘cast-your-mind-back’ memory spell. I’m going to take you back to the moments when The Pointy Woman inspected the clock.”
Toby whimpered. He didn’t want to remember how Old Joe had died in front of him.
“Close your eyes. Do not be afraid.” Clarissa’s fingers traced an odd shape on the top of Toby’s brow. “To see but not to see,” she intoned gently. “Focusing only on me.”
Toby closed his eyes and relaxed. A pinprick of light appeared in his vision, growing larger and larger until he could take in the whole of the living room as it had once been. He’d been lying in his basket but had ended up right here on the sofa. Clarissa was nowhere to be seen in this memory, even though she was sitting right next to him on the sofa in the here and now. Neither could he see Old Joe, but he felt the warmth of the love from the old man even so. The Pointy Woman must have been there too somewhere, but he could neither see her nor feel her. The room was empty.
He was alone.
He was safe.
“Look at the clock,” Clarissa instructed him, her soft-but-strong voice breaking into his thoughts. “Tell me what you see.”
Toby stared at the carriage clock, directly across from where he was sitting. Its gold case shone, but almost dull under a thin veneer of dust. Old Joe didn’t like housework. “It looks miserable,” he replied. “The hands pointing down, not directly down, but off to the sides.”
Twenty-past-eight.
“Is it working?”
“No. No sound. Old Joe doesn’t like the ticking. It drowns out the television and wakes him up at night.”
“There’s nothing else that’s unusual in the room? Take a look around. Can you see anything out of place?”
Toby turned his head. His basket. The tray overturned on the floor. Spilt tea. Broken mugs. He lifted his gaze. The curtains were open at the window, the sun shone through, quite low down though, and pale. A winter sun. Everything else appeared to be where it should be.
“Nothing,” Toby confirmed.
Clarissa let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “I’m going to allow the memory of The Pointy Woman back into your vision. But remember Toby, you are perfectly safe. She can’t hurt you.” Clarissa traced another symbol on his head.
A dull shadow at the side of his vision increased in density, until Toby could clearly distinguish The Pointy Woman. He cringed, assuming she would turn her hateful glare upon him, but it was almost as though he wasn’t there.
“This is a memory,” Clarissa reminded him. “Do you see her? Tell me what she’s doing.”
“Yes. I see her. She’s at the mantelpiece. She’s opening the glass door of the clock.”
“Can you see what’s inside?”
“No, she has her back to me and she’s blocking my view.”
“Darn,” Clarissa groaned. She stayed quiet for a few seconds, thinking. “Okay,” she said eventually. “This makes it more difficult, but I want to try something else.” She drew a third symbol on Toby’s head. His limbs became heavy, and he felt suddenly sleepy. “Remember, she cannot hurt you,” Clarissa repeated.
“She can’t hurt me,” Toby mumbled.
“Good. Now I want you to move around.”
“I’m tired,” Toby grumbled.
“I know, but I need you to do this. Get off the sofa. Walk around to your left.”
“She’s here!”
“She can’t hurt you. She can’t see you or hear you. You’re safe. Stand next to her at the fireplace.”
Toby did as Clarissa asked, but not without a certain amount of trepidation. He stood close enough to The Pointy Woman that he ought to have been able to smell her, but she was part of his memories, and memories don’t give off any fragrance. The Pointy Woman, for her part, appeared oblivious of him even when he padded right up beside her and brushed against her leg.
“Can you stand on your hind legs, Toby?” Clarissa asked. “Can you look at what she’s doing?”
Toby reared up on his back legs with some difficulty. He felt as though he were swimming in mud. “She has the glass case of the clock open. She’s reaching inside.”
“Can you see what it is she has?”
“There’s a glow.”
“Coming from the clock?”
“From inside the clock, yes. A bright glow. It’s purple.” The light spilled out onto the woman’s hands.
“What is the source of the light? Can you get closer?”
Toby struggled to step sideways on his back legs. “There’s a gemstone of some kind—”
As he spoke the words The Pointy Woman, who till now had not acknowledged his presence at all, abruptly turned to him and lifted a claw-like finger to tap his forehead, much as she had touched Old Joe’s.
Toby, recognising the sudden danger, shrieked. He fell down to all fours and scuttled backwards. “No!” he cried.
“What’s happening?” Clarissa asked, her voice rising in panic.
Toby retreated to his basket and cowered there. “She sees me!”
The Pointy Woman advanced on him, her finger extended. He buried his face in his blanket, hiding from what was surely coming.
“That’s impossible! Restore!” Clarissa shouted, “Restore!”
The light of Toby’s vision exploded in a shower of multi-coloured sparks. He clamped his paws over his head, protecting his eyes, imagining his fur was being burned. He rubbed his face to
douse any stray embers until a touch on his shoulder had him leaping upright in shock, but it was only Clarissa. She regarded him, her brow furrowed with concern, and stroked his head.
“She’s gone,” Clarissa whispered. “It’s all gone.”
Toby blinked rapidly, his eyes darting all about, frantically searching for any trace of evil. No Pointy Woman. Just Clarissa.
“She saw me,” Toby murmured.
“That shouldn’t be possible.” Clarissa’s face clouded. “They were your memories we were tapping into, not hers.” Clarissa stood and steepled her fingers in front of her face, considering what had happened. To Toby, her breathing seemed shallow. Was Clarissa as scared as he was? He couldn’t tell without properly seeing her face.
“Was it her we saw on Churchill Street, or just someone who looked like her?” Clarissa spoke low, almost to herself. “If it was, and that seems likely, has she been following us? Does she recognise you? What about me? Does she know we’re here in this house? Did she somehow break into my spell?”
Clarissa shivered suddenly and wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m not sure we’re safe here. Maybe I should try and smuggle you into my flat.”
“But how long for? You surely won’t get away with that forever?” Toby asked.
Besides, this was his home. He belonged here.
“True.” Clarissa paced the room a few times, unsure how to proceed. Finally, she walked over to the barren fireplace and scrutinised the clock. “What was that about a purple gemstone? Did Old Joe ever take anything out or put anything in here?”
“No. He didn’t even wind it up.” Toby clambered out of his basket and joined her next to the mantelpiece, standing on his hind legs so he could take a better look. “I thought it was broken, but I know he hated the ticking.”
“Maybe it is broken.” Clarissa gently turned it around. The key to wind it up stuck out of the back. She twisted it a few times and the clock began to tick. It sounded deafening in the otherwise silent house. “Seems to be working. Mind you it is pretty loud. I can see why Old Joe didn’t like it.”
Toby didn’t know. He watched as Clarissa rotated the clock round the right way again. From his angle he could clearly see through the glass into the back of the body of the clock. “Is it my imagination…?”
Clarissa bent her knees so she too could get a better vantage point. At the rear of the clock, carved into the wood, there was a star-shaped indent, approximately the size of a pound coin. She opened the clock and ran her fingers into the grooves. “A stone could definitely have been set in here.”
She pulled out her fingers. They felt strangely gritty. She rubbed at them, disturbing a thin sheen of dust. In the light they shone purple, as though she had spilled eyeshadow over them.
“There must have been some sort of purple stone or gem in here.” Clarissa angled her hand to the light, observing the purple dust as it phosphoresced. “If we knew what Old Joe needed such a gemstone for, that would really help us.”
“Are we thinking that Old Joe was killed for a stone?” Toby asked in disbelief.
Clarissa nodded, her face troubled. “Presumably it wasn’t just any old stone. It must have had a value, either in terms of its worth or rarity, or because it has a power of some kind. We know The Pointy Woman is some kind of witch, whether she’s my Aunt Miranda or not—”
Toby stiffened.
Noticing the dog’s sudden wary stance, Clarissa clenched her fists and held her breath. They waited. She couldn’t hear anything.
“What’s up?” Clarissa whispered.
Toby growled, a low warning sound in his throat. “Someone is out there.”
Clarissa placed a finger on her lips. They waited, listening intensely.
Silence.
Toby’s hearing was acute. Clarissa watched as his head swivelled, following sounds she couldn’t hear herself. He tracked someone out the front of the house, round by the big bay window. Whoever it was then moved to the path alongside the house.
“Do you think it’s her?” Clarissa whispered.
Toby wasn’t sure.
They both recognised the sound of the dustbin, stored at the front of the garden, as it rocked on its wheels. Someone had collided with it.
Clarissa picked up the poker from the fireplace companion. Toby, hackles raised, hunkered low to the floor, his eyes burning. Together they edged into the hall.
From outside in the garden came the distinct sound of plant pots being overturned.
Clarissa tiptoed into the kitchen. A dark shadow passed in front of the door, too quickly for Clarissa to make out who it could be.
Toby lifted his nose and sniffed as Clarissa hefted the poker and placed her hand on the doorknob. She waited… waited… waited… for exactly the right moment, poised to give the intruder the shock of his or her life.
Toby’s sniffing had produced results, however. “I don’t think it’s The Poin—” he began to say.
Too late.
Clarissa, with a witch’s sixth sense, chose the precise moment that the figure outside reached for the door handle on their own side, to yank it open.
That person, not expecting the door to suddenly fly away from them in such a manner, lost their balance and fell forwards into the kitchen. Clarissa raised the poker, intending to bring it down on her unfortunate victim’s head. Toby, predicting the disaster that might unfold, reacted like lightning. He leapt in front of her, knocking into her with his hard skull. She too stumbled forwards.
The three of them landed in a heap together, the poker clattering harmlessly to one side.
“That’s no kind of welcome.” A man in a suit sat up, rubbing his elbow with a grimace.
He seemed familiar.
“DC Plum?” Clarissa clambered to her feet hurriedly and held out a hand to help the policeman up. “I am so, so sorry. I didn’t realise it was you.”
“Clearly.” DC Plum ignored her hand and pulled himself up, wincing at the pain in his arm. “I think I’ve broken my wrist.”
“Oh no!” Clarissa clasped her hands to her face, her chest tightening guiltily.
Toby sniffed at the man, all along the arm but paying particular attention to his wrist. “He hasn’t broken anything,” he informed Clarissa.
“What, are you a doctor now?” she asked Toby. DC Plum misconstrued the comment, assuming she was addressing him.
“No. I’m still a police officer. I could potentially arrest you for actual bodily harm or assault of a police officer.” DC Plum shook his arm, attempting to ease the ache.
Toby huffed. “I’d like to see you try.”
“I really am sorry.” Unlike Toby, Clarissa tried to act contrite. “It does look alright though. Nothing a cup of tea and some biscuits won’t fix, I’m sure.”
DC Plum nodded. “Are they chocolate biscuits? That might sway me in your favour.”
“What are you even doing here?” Clarissa asked, as she refilled the kettle and set it on the stove to boil.
“I could ask you the same question.” DC Plum, obviously fresh out of work, took off his jacket and draped it carefully over the back of a seat at the kitchen table, before loosening his tie and bending down to ruffle the hair on Toby’s head. “How did you gain access?”
Clarissa’s stomach dropped in dismay. She shouldn’t be in the house either. “That’s fair.” She conceded the point reluctantly. “It’s a long story, DC Plum.”
“I’m off duty now. Well, as off duty as any police officer ever is. You can call me Ed. Or Edward if you prefer. But really only my Mum calls me Edward, and even then only on Sundays.”
Clarissa laughed, some of her pent-up tension eking away. “You didn’t answer my question, Ed.”
“Or you mine.”
They regarded each other in a mini Mexican stand-off, waiting to see who would cave first.
It had to be Ed. Clarissa knew she had more to lose.
“To be honest, as soon as you came into the police station I recognised Freddie here
. Except he’s not Freddie, is he? We had a report through the other day about a dog running away from the Sunshine Valley Pet Sanctuary. Normally I wouldn’t have paid it any mind, but I recognised the photo of him.” Ed fiddled with Toby’s ears. Toby let him. He knew what was coming.
“I was the first officer on the scene the day that Toby’s owner died. I arranged to have Toby sent to the kennels, and I filled out the report about the dog bite that probably pretty much condemned this young man to death.”
“Dog bite?” Clarissa looked puzzled. This was a part of the story that she had not heard before.
“When the next-door neighbour—”
“Mrs Crouch,” Toby interjected, although to DC Plum it merely sounded like a moan.
“—called us, she was in some distress. She claimed that there was a woman in the property who had found Mr Silverwind lying on the floor. This woman told the neighbour that the dog had attacked her.”
“Toby would never hurt anyone,” Clarissa told the detective.
“The neighbour did see an injury to the woman’s hand.”
“I most certainly didn’t attack her,” Toby growled. “She did that to herself.”
DC Plum regarded Toby uncertainly. “I could swear he’s talking to us. It’s almost as though he understands every word.”
“Oh believe me he does,” Clarissa nodded, and folded her arms across her chest. “Did you believe her? The woman who claimed she’d been bitten?”
Ed’s face fell. “That’s just it. I never actually got to meet her. By the time I turned up on the scene, she’d gone.”
“Hmmm.” The news didn’t surprise Clarissa at all. Tutting, she poured hot water into the mugs and started squishing the teabags aggressively.
“I had no reason to disbelieve the neighbour’s statement. To be fair to her, she was most complimentary about Toby here. She told me he was a smashing dog. Well-behaved and intelligent.”
“I am,” Toby chipped in.
“But she’d seen the woman’s hand, so I wrote that up in my report and he was taken to the kennel by the dog warden. That’s standard procedure. There was no-one else to take care of him.”
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