Bitter Moon: Urban Witch Series - Book 2

by R. L. Giddings

  The operation was being supervised by the Port of London Harbour Master. I could spot their boat by the blue ensign they flew. Then there was the Marine Support Craft which was running the actual operation itself. It was very clearly marked with POLICE picked out in white letters on its blue hull. This boat had a rigid grey dinghy moored alongside it from which the team of divers were operating.

  My biggest concern was what was I going to do if they actually found something? Because then there’d be no denying it: I’d have to accept the truth of his death. But, as long as they didn’t bring up a body, I reasoned that there was still a chance that Silas might still be alive. It was a ridiculous idea, I know. What did I think was going to happen? That I’d be standing on the bridge one day only to discover him standing right next to me?

  I’d taken up my regular position on Blackfriars Bridge one bitingly cold morning and stood there for half an hour before realising that they’d moved their operation a couple of hundred metres further along. I’d crossed over to the south side before making my way down the steps onto the little strip of shingle beach. I wasn’t the only one down there. A group of young men were there practising parkour off the steps, performing back-flips and summersaults. They were too interested in watching one another to give me more than a cursory glance.

  Out in the middle of the river there wasn’t much going on. A pair of divers had just gone into the water while another pair checked their equipment on-board the support boat. A back-up crew member sat in the dinghy and appeared to be in radio contact with the divers. Every now and then, one of them would surface and pass something up into the boat. Each item was deposited inside an evidence bag and catalogued. Nothing that had surfaced so far had looked even remotely promising.

  After standing there for two hours dressed in a thin wool coat I was starting to lose the feeling in my feet. I’d been promising myself that I’d take a break and get myself a coffee in one of the over-priced coffee bars which overlooked the river but I was scared I might miss something. If I could manage to get a table by a window, I reasoned, I could still keep an eye on what was going on. Watch the whole operation from a much cosier vantage point. Although the idea seemed to make perfect sense I still made no attempt to do anything about it. I suppose, looking back, I was maintaining a vigil.

  Every once in a while I would cry. I had absolutely no control over when this would happen and experienced no discernible mood changes while it was occurring. It was just that at some point I would start to cry and I would cry until I stopped. All I could do was wipe the tears away. I hadn’t thought to bring any tissues with me and with the wind coming off the river my cheeks soon began to smart.

  To be totally truthful that was probably why I was so reticent about going up into one of the cafes. It was one thing to cry whilst standing alone on a grey stretch of beach. It was quite another thing whilst ordering a skinny latte.

  There was very little traffic on the river. The odd tug-boat came and went and every half an hour a sleek, white tourist craft would appear and one of the crewmen on the Harbour Master boat would indicate for them to slow down.

  I heard the sound of someone approaching and turned, half expecting some official telling that I shouldn’t be down on the sand. I certainly wasn’t expecting to see Millie.

  She was carrying two cartons of coffee.

  I took mine and went to sip it but it was too hot.

  “Missed you this morning,” she said.

  “I was up early.”

  “Pressing business down by the riverside, I see.”

  I indicated the small flotilla of boats. “They start at first light.”

  She came and stood beside me. She was taller than me and dressed for the cold in a thick wool coat, scarf and Russian hat. She was also wearing black stilettoes.

  “You’re going to ruin those shoes,” I said.

  “I’ve got another pair.”

  Make that several hundred pairs.

  “Thanks for this,” I proffered the cup. “Just the way I like it.”

  “I thought you might need it. I was going to have a coffee at my lovely warm desk but then I thought: No, why don’t I go and freeze my arse off down by the river.”

  I was momentarily distracted by one of the divers surfacing. I thought for a moment that he might have found something but then he started chatting to the surface crew.

  I said, “I tell you what would warm me up.”

  Her hand slid into her pocket and she pulled out a packet of cigarettes.

  “Are these the right ones?”

  “No, but they’ll do.”

  I cradled the coffee in the nook of my arm while I opened the packet. Millie didn’t like me smoking in the flat. If I wanted one I had to go into my bedroom and open the big sash window. She could probably still smell the smoke but it was a compromise. As I pressed the cigarette between my lips I realised that I didn’t have any matches.

  I looked longingly up towards the esplanade. One of those places must surely sell matches.

  “Oh, sorry,” Millie took out a cheap plastic lighter. The one we used to light the cooker. Perfect.

  I lit the cigarette and inhaled.

  “You’re smiling,” she said.

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing.”

  She hooked her arm through mine and we huddled together for warmth.

  “I was getting worried. Thought you might have been washed away.”

  “Like Silas?”

  “Oh, sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean …”

  “It’s fine. You’re still allowed to make jokes.”

  “Even ones that aren’t funny?”

  I wrinkled my nose, “None of your jokes are funny.”

  She thumped her hip solidly against mine slopping my coffee against its plastic lid.

  She said, “What will you do if they don’t find anything?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m rather hoping that they won’t.”

  “That’s perverse.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  I took a sip of my coffee, it was already starting to cool. Then a thought occurred to me.

  “Has Kinsella said anything about what’s happening with the Novices?”

  “Those other witches? The ones Stahl brought over? Why do you want to know?”

  I arched my eyebrows. I couldn’t help myself – I was curious.

  “He’s sorted something out. Keeping them together for the time being.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if he just locked them up in the Tower.”

  Millie pulled me closer. “If you’re so concerned why not ask him yourself?”

  Millie’s good at that: turning the tables on me. It’s why I like her. The next thing she’d be suggesting that I should pop into Kinsella’s office though the idea of going back into The Bear Garden made me feel tight across the chest. But that didn’t change how I felt about the Novices. In a way, I was responsible for what happened to them.

  I finished the last of my coffee pouring the dregs onto the sand. “I’d like you to find out what he intends doing with them. I’m worried he might send them back to their own countries – which would be bad news for all concerned.”

  That was an under-statement. A lot of the developing nations, particularly those in Africa, had perpetrated terrible human rights abuses against witches. Sending some of those girls back would be akin to issuing their death warrant.

  Millie took my empty cup and slid it inside her own. Then she gave me a hug while I did my best not to burn her with the cigarette.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  I would have gone with her then if she’d been going back to the flat, but she wasn’t.

  Back to The Bear Garden. I shuddered at the thought.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The police searched the river for three days before the search was called off and I could stay home. They had found nothing that might have been linked to Silas’ di
sappearance. I should have been disappointed but instead I was relieved. If they couldn’t find him with all the resources at their disposal then there was a good chance that there was no body to be found. That Silas might still be alive.

  But if he wasn’t dead then where was he? There had been no sign of him at his offices in London, and his flat hadn’t been lived in. Millie had checked. I also knew that Kinsella had attempted to contact his family up in Scotland. They hadn’t responded but their solicitor had, asking that the family be ‘left alone in their time of grief.’

  I would have liked to have spoken to the family myself, but didn’t see how that was going to happen. If there had been a body then there would have been a funeral. But with no body …

  Still, I was feeling much better about the situation which was why, when the house phone rang and I heard Angela Warren, the psychologist, talking on the answer-phone, I decided to pick up.

  The thing was that she wasn’t ringing to make an appointment. She was very clear on that. She was ringing to organise a meeting.

  “Look, Bronte, I know that our last session didn’t go as well as we’d have liked but something’s come up. Something which concerns you directly. I don’t want to discuss it over the phone but it’s enough to say that other parties are involved.”

  Silas. My very first thought. They’ve found Silas.

  Cautiously, I said, “Which other parties?”

  “Look, its best if I don’t say over the phone but the meeting’s set for 9am tomorrow. I just want to make sure that you understand that this isn’t a normal counselling meeting, though I will be there to provide you with whatever support you might need.”

  I was intrigued. “So who else is going to be at this meeting?”

  “Other members of your department who are known to you. And one or two others who will be introduced to you on the day.”

  But that wasn’t what I was concerned about.

  “Where is the meeting taking place?”

  “It’s alright, I understand your anxiety about the Bear Garden, which is why I’ve requested that we meet at St Peter’s House.”

  “St Peter’s?” The name sounded vaguely familiar.

  “It’s the Department’s Rest and Rehabilitation Centre. Out near Wandsworth. It’s very nice; less formal. I thought you might prefer it.”

  “Okay, yes.” I didn’t know what else to say. All I knew was that I’d have a raft of questions once I put the phone down. “And you can’t tell me who’s going to be there, other than yourself.”

  “Unfortunately, no. But don’t worry: you haven’t done anything wrong.”

  ‘You haven’t done anything wrong.’ What did that mean?

  I very much doubted that the meeting would bring any good news. And so it proved.

  *

  Dr Warren – Angela - was waiting to intercept me in the car park.

  St Peter’s House was a modern, brick built facility which was already starting to show its age. As I approached I could see the tinted windows of the purpose built pool area. There were disabled access ramps leading up to each of the various entrances which made everything seem slightly cramped. But, other than that, it looked like any other mid-range spa.

  Angela was wearing a heavy over-coat against the cold but I also noticed that she was in her heels. I’d made the effort to wear a dress and was glad now that I had. I still wore flat shoes though, in an attempt to resist the pressures of the office dress code. Angela was nervous but was trying to hide it. We exchanged pleasantries but, when I asked for details about the meeting, she demurred saying that I’d find out soon enough

  We had to sign in before we were given our temporary passes and were then directed towards one of the conference rooms. It was situated on the first floor and, by the time we reached it, I was feeling short of breath. I’d had all evening to work myself into a state of paranoia and had decided that this was the day that my employment at the Bear Garden would be terminated. I had never really worked there in any official capacity. I was basically a trainee librarian who had out-stayed her usefulness. They’d try and ease me out on medical grounds. The facts were clear – I hadn’t been into work in nearly three months and in that time I had managed to attend just one meeting with my psychologist. As far as I could see, they well within their rights to get rid of me. And, by using Angela as an advocate, they’d effectively insulated themselves from any criticism.

  I had only myself to blame.

  That was the state of mind I was in as they ushered into the room and my thoughts didn’t change when I spotted Kinsella at the table. He stood up when we entered and came around to greet us – which surprised me. I’d have thought he’d have been only too keen to keep his distance. Perhaps he was feeling guilty?

  At the top of the table an attractive, dark skinned woman was setting up a power-point presentation. She had an economy of movement which spoke of years of dance training and as she pulled down the projector screen I was aware of all eyes being on her. Oddly, she was wearing a single black leather glove on her left hand. She was being assisted by a doughty man with thick black glasses dressed in a suit that was several sizes too small for him. The man checked the computer leads while the woman tried to get the sound working.

  “They’re not quite ready,” Kinsella said. “I’ll introduce you once everyone’s here. Would you like some coffee?”

  I said yes, all the time wondering who else was liable to put in an appearance. They wouldn’t need a member of the Inner Council present just to get rid of me and any legal representative would have been there already. Billable hours and all that.

  Kinsella surprised me by taking us over to coffee machine and getting our drinks himself. I might have even started to relax if he’d been able to hold eye contact with me. Instead, he kept himself busy by searching out a selection of biscuits. Correspondingly, I was on my best behaviour even accepting a bourbon biscuit I didn’t want.

  I was still trying to work out exactly what was going on when the door opened and in walked a muscular giant in a tight black t-shirt. He was Asian and carried a shiny yellow holdall which he placed over against the far wall. His rugged features were softened slightly by the fact that he wore clear framed spectacles. His hair, which was starting to recede, had been carefully gelled. He opened the doors wide enough that they clicked into position and then moved back out into the corridor. When he returned he was pushing a wheelchair containing a woman in a white robe and grey tracksuit bottoms.

  Helena Lawson.

  Helena was in her mid-thirties but the woman in the wheelchair looked much older. Her hair which had been cut very short was lank and grey. It was the first time I’d seen her since she’d left hospital. She had lost so much weight that it was hard to reconcile her with the vital, attractive woman I’d first met only a few months before. She looked like a little girl who had dressed up in her mother’s clothes and I found myself wondering if she would ever be the same woman again.

  We’d worked together for a short while with her as the senior partner and, when she’d been stabbed, I’d visited her a couple of times in hospital though, to be honest, she’d been in such a poor state of health that I doubted that she’d remember. Then, when I had found out that she had endeavoured to have me framed for stealing an artefact from the grand library, my attitude towards her had cooled and I hadn’t visited her again. I was starting to regret that now. Whatever she might have tried to do to me didn’t come close to the suffering she had endured. It was shocking to see her in such a reduced state.

  Helena’s carer removed one of the heavy office chairs before wheeling Helena into the self-same spot.

  “Anything else I can get for you, Helena?” he spoke in a solemn whisper.

  “I’ll be fine, Amir. Thank you.”

  He went over, closed the doors and stood in front of them, refusing Kinsella’s offer of a seat. He was very conspicuous just standing there; he made me feel uneasy.

  I made myself sit down directly
across from Helena even though I would have happily sat anywhere else. Angela took the seat next to me so close that I could make out the sweetness of her perfume.

  “I’m sorry, Helena,” I said, leaning forward. “I didn’t know that you were going to be here.”

  “They tried that nonsense with me,” she said, sounding breathless. “I told them: I don’t go to any meeting where I don’t know who’s going to attend.”

  Kinsella sat at the far end of the table and made the introductions.

  “This is Valeria McTeague who represents the Ministry at the Home Office. You could say that she has a foot in both camps: she’s a civil servant with a full working knowledge of the craft. Valeria also is in charge of vetting all personnel who enter the Ministry.”

  That was where I remembered her from. She’d been one of the people who’d interviewed me when I’d first applied. She stuck in the memory because when I’d entered the room I’d made to shake hands with her but she’d simply smiled and indicated for me to sit, keeping her left hand hidden from view. That made sense now that I’d seen the glove, it was obviously something she was self-conscious of.

  Facially, she had great cheekbones which might have been over-shadowed by her solid Roman nose if she hadn’t been so skilful with her make-up. I detected a residual glow coming from her which identified her as a practitioner though I had no sense of how powerful she might be.

  Kinsella continued, “Dominic Szabo most of you probably already know. Dominic’s role is to co-ordinate the work of the Dark Team. He spends too much of his time locked away in The Dungeon so he was only too pleased to be invited out into the real world.”

  Kinsella paused for the laughter which didn’t come. No one liked the mention of The Dungeon. There were things down in The Dungeon you didn’t want to have to think about: powerful magic can produce powerful side-effects. It’s an unpleasant part of the work we do.

  Millie has had to sign-off on some of their manifests in the past.