by Sam Short
“Mum?” said Millie. “What’s happening? I can hardly see you.”
“The bridge is weakening,” said her mother. “I have to go now, but I’ll come back as soon as I can. Tell your father who you are, sweetheart.”
“Mum?” said Millie. She stared at the empty space before her, tears still falling, and spoke to nobody. “I have a father,” she whispered. “I have a father.”
Chapter 26
Before Millie could touch the police station door, it swung open, almost hitting her in the face. An elderly woman stepped through it, and smiled at her. “Hello, dear!” she said.
“Oh, hello, Pamela,” said Millie. “How’s Jack?”
“He’ll be out of the hospital by the end of the week, but he won’t be doing any marathons for a month or two,” said Pamela. “He’ll be glad to be out of there — especially since they dumped that terrible man in the room next door. That murderer. Jack and the boys wanted to sneak in at night and smother him, they’re disgusted at what he did to a fellow member of the metal detecting community. I told them they were hypocrites after the way they treated Tom, and that they didn’t have the balls between them to smother a man.”
“Oh,” said Millie. “Well, that’s probably for the best. We could do without another murder around here.”
“That’s exactly what I told them,” said Pamela. “Two wrongs don’t make a right, I said. Jack and the boys agreed, so they’ve come up with another way of honouring Tom Temples.”
“What have they decided to do?” said Millie.
“Pawn Shop Pete came to visit Jack, you see,” said Pamela. “And he told them about the gold he had in his safe. Tom’s gold.”
“Yes?” said Millie, wondering how she was going to tell Sergeant Spencer. Wondering how she was going to tell David. Wondering how she was going to tell her father that she was his daughter.
“Pawn Shop Pete told Jack that you and young Judith had told him not to touch that gold,” said Pamela.
“That’s right,” said Millie, wondering if her father would hug her or walk away.
“But they came up with an idea, you see, but they needed the police’s permission to be able to act on it. That’s why I’m here. I came to ask if the boys could auction off the gold and use it for a good cause. Sergeant Spencer said yes, but between me and you,” said Pamela, “I think it was the plate of biscuits I brought as a sweetener that sealed the deal. Chocolate chips and raisins are a very hard biscuit to resist. Especially for a tubby chap like the sergeant. He was straight into them, like a greedy bugger at a free buffet.”
“Right,” said Millie, wondering if she would cry or smile when she told her father who she was. “What’s the good cause, then?”
Pamela gave a proud smile. “They’re building a hall. A community hall. The Tom Temples Hobby Hall, it’s going to be named! People can use it for meetings, book clubs – whatever they like, and the boys are buying a few metal detectors, too! They’re going to take local children metal detecting! To keep them out of trouble!”
“That is a wonderful idea,” said Millie. “And I still have the gold that Jack and the others found in the sand dunes. It’s in my cottage. They can have that, too.”
“How splendid!” said Pamela. “The boys will be happy! Now, you get yourself inside that police station before all those biscuits have gone, you look like the type of girl who likes a good feed every now and again.”
“Erm… thank you?” said Millie.
Pamela smiled. “You’re welcome.” She lowered her voice. “You know,” she said. “The policing in this town is very unconventional, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s not in every town that you can walk into a police station and find a father and daughter having so much fun together! You wait until you see what those two in there are wearing! They had me in stitches! Bye now!”
“Goodbye, Pamela,” said Millie, waiting until the smell of cinnamon and brown sugar had dispersed before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. When she considered herself calm enough, she pulled the door open and prepared herself for the conversation she was both dreading, and anticipating with a happy glow in her stomach.
“Morning, Millie,” said Sergeant Spencer, looking up from behind the tall custody desk. “Are you alright? You sounded nervous when you phoned me and asked for a chat. Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine,” said Millie. “I just wanted some… advice?”
Sergeant Spencer gave her a warm smile. “Of course! Come into my office, Judith won’t mind giving us some time alone.”
Judith poked her head from around the office door, her body hidden. “But not until Millie’s seen our shirts, Dad!”
“Of course not!” said Sergeant Spencer. “Our t-shirts from the zoo were delivered this morning, Millie,” he said. “You’re going to love them! Pamela did!”
“Close your eyes, Millie,” said Judith. “They work better when we’re standing next to each other.”
“Erm.. okay,” said Millie, shutting her eyes, anxiety boiling in her chest.
After a few seconds of shuffling feet and a little laughter, Judith spoke, her voice excited. “Okay, open your eyes and prepare to be dazzled by our zoo visiting outfits for next year’s father and daughter anniversary trip!”
When Millie opened her eyes, her heart sank. She forced a smile and tried to laugh. “Very good,” she said.
“It’s not the reaction I was expecting,” said Sergeant Spencer, his arm around Judith’s shoulder, his daughter’s head on his chest. “Maybe we were spoiled by Pamela’s over the top reaction. That woman couldn’t stop laughing.”
“Dad designed them,” said Judith. “He chose what to have written on them.”
Millie smiled wider, her spirits sinking and her stomach in tight knots of hopelessness. How could she come between them? She couldn’t. She forced a giggle. “No! They’re brilliant! I love them!”
They were funny. They were cute, even, but seeing her father’s face caught in a mock scowl and superimposed over the 3D features of a grumpy orangutan’s face, with the words father to the best cheeky chimp in the zoo written below, made her realise she was trespassing. Trespassing on a father and daughter relationship forged over almost three decades. Forged from an awful tragedy, and wrapped securely in bars of the toughest steel.
Judith’s shirt, with the words daughter to the grumpiest great ape in the zoo, printed below her smiling face, superimposed over the face of a grinning chimp, made her mind up for her. She had no right to change Sergeant Spencer’s life, or the life of his adopted daughter.
“Anyway, enough of that,” said Sergeant Spencer. “I’ll make you a cup of coffee, Millie. Grab yourself a biscuit or two from the plate which Pamela left for us, and come into my office. Let’s have that chat you wanted.”
“You know what?” said Millie. “I think I’ll give it a miss.”
“Really?” said Sergeant Spencer. “Are you sure? You sounded nervous when you phoned me.”
Millie nodded. “I’m sure,” she said. “I think I was a little stressed out after the murders and the motorbike crash, you know? I just wanted some advice on how to process it all, but seeing those shirts has cheered me up. Laughter does seem to be the best medicine.”
“That’s how I deal with stressful things,” said the big man. “By not talking about them too much, and laughing. Are you sure I can’t help, Millie? There’s nothing wrong with asking for a little help now and again.”
“It’s fine,” said Millie, turning to face the door. “I’ll be fine. I’m going to take a walk along the beach. I’m keeping an eye out for Lillieth. I still haven’t had the chance to offer her the lighthouse as a home for when she’s in these parts.”
Judith came alongside her, dropping her voice as she walked Millie towards the exit. “Has George told you who that blonde girl is yet?” she asked.
“No,” said Millie. “And I’ve agreed not to ask until he’s ready to tell me. There’s nothing goi
ng on that I should be worried about. I trust him.”
“Good,” said Judith, pushing the door open for Millie. “And what about that mystery you and Reuben were trying to solve together?”
“Oh, we solved that,” said Millie.
“And?” said Judith.
Millie stepped through the door and into the sunshine. “I’m still trying to work out what to do with the answer,” she said.
The End
Chapter 1
Millie Thorn took a steadying breath and adjusted the strap of the apron which dug into the back of her neck. She didn’t enjoy feeling so out of her depth, but that was precisely how she felt. Out. Of. Her. Depth.
She didn’t feel out of her depth with life in general. No, life, in general, was pretty good if she were being honest. In fact, life, in general, was perfect for a twenty-four-year-old woman who’d found out less than a year ago that she was a witch. A wealthy witch, at that — which was a pleasant bonus, and a witch who came from a long line of coven witches, whose innate magic kept at bay the evil forces wishing to cross into the world from another dimension known as The Chaos.
Being responsible for ensuring a dimensional gate remained locked, would, Millie imagined, make the average person feel out of their depth. But not her. Not anymore, anyway.
Neither did the fact that her dead mother had visited her from the other side, make her feel out of her depth. Although the news about the identity of Millie’s father which had accompanied her mother on the ghostly visit, had affected her. Deeply. And it still did. Yet, that unexpected news hadn’t contributed to her current out of her depth experience, either.
Yes, the news had confused her. She’d spent her life believing that she’d been conceived during a brief tryst between her mother and a man who had vanished into society before he could be alerted to his impending status as a father. Of course the news had confused her. The fact that a person’s mother would lie to them about who their father was would confuse most people, she imagined.
The news about her father had made her angry, too, but Millie had managed to put it out of her mind, to the best of her ability. Not forever, of course — she’d promised herself that she’d confront the dilemma head-on when she’d had time to think it through properly and work out how to approach the man in question — a good man who had no idea that he was her father. Not only would Millie’s life be turned on its head when she told her father that she was his daughter, but so would his, and the life of his adopted daughter, who Millie happened to like very much.
Judith was her best friend, after all, so liking her was pretty much a standard requirement. She would tell the man eventually; she’d promised herself and her familiar as much, but she would choose the time wisely — she had no urgent appetite for turning other people’s lives upside down. It could wait. It would have to wait.
Although all the things that had happened to her had made Millie question the meaning of life, and whether there was something in the Spellbinder Bay water supply — none of those things could be held accountable for the squirming sensation of self-doubt she felt right at that very moment. The sensation which made her mouth dry and her stomach queasy — the unsettling feeling of being entirely out of her depth.
No, the reason for her immediate uneasiness could be put down to her current surroundings, and more to the point, the group of people populating her current surroundings. Some of them, anyway.
She took another deep breath and gazed around the classroom at the expectant faces. Twelve of the faces, their owners dutifully standing behind their shared bench desks, dressed in school uniforms protected with blue aprons emblazoned with the school’s coat of arms, belonged to her pupils. The other twenty or so older faces belonged to the children’s parents, and it was this more mature audience, who huddled at the rear of the cookery classroom with their backs to the large ornate windows offering sweeping views of the sea, which made Millie feel so uneasy.
Not every child had a parent present at the back of the classroom, waiting to heap praise upon their offspring when he or she displayed their burgeoning culinary skills. Eleven of the children had at least one of their parents standing behind them. Not the thin boy with the deep brown eyes and straw-like hair, though.
He’d repeatedly glanced nervously at the clock when his mother had failed to arrive at the appropriate time, and had nobody present to witness his cooking skills being put into action in a classroom environment.
Aware that Norman, the quiet and unassuming young werewolf, came from a tumultuous home, Millie had felt a heart-wrenching sympathy for him when his mother had failed to arrive. Nonetheless, Norman remained as eager as the other pupils to display his skills to the waiting adults, a resilience demonstrated by the young man which Millie considered highly admirable.
Peeling her eyes from Norman, Millie turned her nervous gaze back to the parents. The fact that cookery lessons had been taken off the school curriculum thirty years previously, following a fatal accident involving magic, a teacher who had developed witch dementia, and an oven, had made Millie realise just how much trust the parents were putting in her.
She was, after all, responsible for their children’s safety — in a magical school, and more to the point — in the exact room in which a person had perished the last time cookery lessons had been on the curriculum.
Millie was not only charged with teaching the youngsters how to bake a cake or roast potatoes, she was also entrusted with ensuring that none of the children was, through an accident of magic, turned into a soufflé mix and baked to death in an oven. The fact that it had been the teacher, and not a pupil who had met her untimely demise at gas mark seven for eleven minutes, or so the story went, did make Millie wonder if it was her own or the children’s safety she should be most concerned with.
She knew she was at no risk, really. The facts about the case of the so-called soufflé death, which Millie had managed to glean from the few people who could barely remember it, all pointed to the fact that the teacher in question had been suffering from witch dementia and shouldn’t really have been teaching at all. Especially in such a potentially hazardous environment as a room full of ovens, children, and sharp blades.
The exact circumstances which saw her being transferred to a hot oven after accidentally turning herself into the soufflé mix, were not entirely clear, but with a busy classroom full of children, each making their own soufflé, understandable, at least.
Millie refocused on the small crowd at the rear of the room and licked her lips. She smiled at the woman with the long nose who seemed to be waiting for her to say something. In fact, everybody seemed to be waiting for her to speak. What had she got herself into? Speaking to a group of children was one thing, but speaking to the parents was another. It was equivalent to public speaking, for heaven’s sake. Not something she relished.
Who’d have thought that she, Millie Thorn, would ever have become a teacher? In her defence, when she’d agreed to take the job of part-time cookery teacher in Spellbinder Hall, revitalising the classroom with new ovens and equipment in the process, she hadn’t fully realised that she’d be agreeing to shoulder all the responsibilities of a real teacher.
She’d envisioned herself teaching non-judgmental young teens how to cook, but she had not envisaged herself being involved in a school open day presentation of the cookery skills the youngsters had acquired under her tutelage. The unpleasant sensation of being under the microscope, gazed through by the parents, was not one which Millie much liked, and she licked her dry lips again as she gazed once more at her waiting audience.
Realising with growing anxiety that a few of the adults appeared to be visibly bored, Millie smiled at one of the parents, who, presumably concerned by the blank look which Millie imagined was pasted on her face, looked like she wanted to hug her child’s cookery teacher. A pity hug was not something Millie wanted to be one half of, so digging deep and finding a thin sliver of courage, somewhere near her spleen, she took a long breath
and opened her mouth to speak.
The word her brain ordered her mouth to speak had supposed to be ‘hello,’ but instead of a friendly greeting, a strangled gasp of fear left her lips as a towering figure shrouded in long loose black robes emerged from the white painted wall to her left. The shimmering upper body of the apparition flickered in and out of what Millie was struggling to consider as being reality, and passed through a poster advocating the necessity of vigorous hand cleanliness before participation in food preparation, before slinking slowly towards the corner.
Although having come to terms with the presence of the multitude of paranormal species who lived in the coastal town of Spellbinder Bay, Millie was still working on being calm around some of the ghosts that populated the town and school. Especially the ones who didn’t speak and insisted on covering their faces. The scary ones.
A cold shudder ran up Millie’s spine as the new arrival to the classroom stopped moving and stood silently, looming over the living people, its head bowed and its dark robes semi-transparent. A silent observer.
“Is that a new ghost?” said one of the male parents, watching the apparition as it lifted its head, any face it may have had hidden in the shadows cast by the drooping hood it wore.
“It certainly wasn’t one of the ghosts I was aware of when I was a pupil here at Spellbinder Hall,” said a woman wearing a wide-brimmed hat. “It must be new. The person must have died after I left school.” She looked the ghost up and down. “Or hundreds of years ago. They do say that some ghosts take centuries to appear after their body dies. I definitely never saw it when I was a pupil, though.”
One of the pupils giggled and turned to face the parents. The short, red-haired boy, who Millie knew to be a vampire, gave another laugh as he addressed the woman who had spoken. “The dinosaurs were still roaming the planet when you were a pupil here, Mum,” he said. “You’re probably way older than that ghost!”
