A Very British Witch Boxed Set

by Isobella Crowley

  Ronnie opened his eyes and blinked. He looked confused.

  “What?” he said.

  Cliff looked him up and down. “You’re naked.”

  Ronnie’s eyes grew large. He checked himself, then covered his groin with his hands. “Oh, god.”

  “Remember, Ronnie,” Cliff said. “What happens in the park stays in the park.”

  Ronnie’s face looked shocked, but when he realized Cliff was joking, he burst out with embarrassed laughter. Cliff scowled but couldn’t keep a straight face for long, and laughed along with him.

  “Not so loud,” he said when he could talk again. “If someone hears us, we’ll have a lot of explaining to do.”

  Ronnie nodded and sat up, stifling his laughter.

  “The last thing we want is to spark more rumors,” Cliff said.

  Ronnie looked around at the quiet park. Bits of grass clung to his skin and his hair was frazzled.

  “Not that it’s the most urgent thing,” Cliff said. “But you’ll want to comb your hair. It’s a fright wig.”

  Ronnie chuckled.

  “But first things first,” Cliff said. He unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it to Ronnie. “Put that on. I don’t know what time it is, but the sun should be up soon. We need to get the hell out of here before there are people about.”

  Ronnie put on the shirt.

  Cliff stood up, stretching out his sore limbs. Then, he extended a hand to Ronnie, helping him to his feet.

  Together, the two friends staggered toward the road in the direction of Ronnie’s house.

  +++

  Hogarth’s Residence, Bicester, England

  Several hours later, Detective Inspector Rogerson was loitering between the kitchen and hallway, about ready to call it a day.

  They hadn’t found anything remotely suspicious, though they had bagged and tagged all sorts of materials to be tested. It was beginning to feel like a wild goose chase, but there was always a chance the lab could find something incriminating.

  He was just about to start wrapping up when the detective who had been talking to the husband came up to him.

  “Anything?”

  “Might have something,” the detective said. “Just found something interesting on Scarlett Slater’s laptop. Her browsing history from last night.”

  Rogerson nodded. He had managed to secure a warrant to tap and monitor Scarlett’s devices to keep tabs on her. They were monitoring her phone and laptop, and also recording all screen and voice activity.

  “What have you got?” Rogerson asked.

  “It looks like she’s been searching online for wolfsbane.”

  Rogerson frowned.

  “Okay, let’s get a new search warrant for her aunt’s allotment.”

  The detective nodded. “You want the interview report of Mr. Hogarth first?”

  “No,” Rogerson said brusquely. “Put in for the search warrant now. I want to search her allotment as soon as possible.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  +++

  Aunt Tabitha’s Residence, Bicester, England

  Scarlett knocked on the front door of her Aunt Tabitha’s house. It was her day off, thankfully, and she was much in need of some comfort. Aunt Tabitha was the natural solution.

  Having woken up late, and a little hung over, she took the morning to process the previous night of being stood up, and put her life in order. Now, she stood holding a bunch of old clothes that she’d cleaned out of her closet.

  She heard the sound of footsteps approach the door before it opened to reveal Aunt Tabitha.

  “Oh, Scarlett. How are you? I’ve just put the kettle on for tea.”

  “Hi Auntie.” She indicated at the bundle of clothes. “I thought these might be useful as either gardening clothes, or something to use as rags.”

  Aunt Tabitha raised one eyebrow. “Spring cleaning are we?”

  “Something like that,” Scarlett mumbled, pushing her way through the door, “where shall I put them?”

  “Oh, anywhere. Find a space and we’ll go through them later.”

  Scarlett dumped them down on the hallway table and fussed with them a little to make them stay in one pile.

  Tabitha closed the front door and then wrapped her niece in a warm hug. “Is everything all right?”

  Scarlett relaxed into the hug and let out a deep sigh. “Things have been a bit crazy for me these last few days.”

  “Oh?”

  “A friend of mine died.”

  “The girl in the paper?”

  “Jade, yes.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Tabitha said. “I didn’t know you knew her.”

  “Only a little.”

  “I was just about to make some tea,” Tabitha said. “You’ll be wanting some too, I imagine.”

  “Yes, please.”

  “I have just the thing for it.”

  As Tabitha started working her magic in the kitchen, Scarlett went to the sliding glass door in the back, to look out toward the garden. She wanted to see if her aunt was growing wolfsbane.

  “Do you mind if we sit outside?” she asked.

  “A bit chilly, isn’t it?”

  “It’s warming up,” Scarlett said. “I’m a bit hot from the spring cleaning.”

  “Yes, that’s fine then. I’ll be out with the tea in a minute, dear.”

  Scarlett slid the glass door aside and stepped out, glad she was still wearing her jacket and scarf. Her aunt had a cement patio with a table, chairs and an umbrella for shade. Beyond that was a small lawn and a garden stretching along the back fence.

  Instead of sitting, Scarlett went to the garden and studied the flowers growing there. The garden had some vegetables, tomatoes, carrots, potatoes and peas. Another section had herbs like rosemary, sage and parsley. Each plant was marked with a small stick labeled with a name and a picture of the plant it represented.

  She couldn’t see any of the bluish-purple flowers she was looking for.

  Scarlett heard the glass door open and turned to see her aunt stepping outside with a full tray.

  “Pretty, aren’t they?” her aunt said as she set the tray down on the patio table.

  She fixed her aunt with a steady gaze, as the older lady pottered with the tea. “Have you ever used wolfsbane outside the garden?” she asked.

  Tabitha smiled pleasantly. “Of course,” she said simply.

  “Is it a secret?”

  “I have no secrets from you, Scarlett.”

  “You didn’t tell me I was a witch.”

  “I did, once or twice, but you took it as a joke or an insult. You weren’t ready to hear it. So I let that be, until you needed and wanted to know. Everything in its proper time.”

  “I think I’m ready to know more about wolfsbane.”

  “I suppose you are,” Tabitha said. “But why the sudden interest?”

  “I’m just interested.”

  Tabitha pursed her lips with disapproval. “Tell me the truth: did you come over here to ask me about that flower?”

  “I came over here to see my Aunt Tabitha, whom I love dearly,” Scarlett said sweetly, wandering over to the table to sit for tea. “And to ask you about that flower.”

  Tabitha nodded, as if she had suspected as much. “It’s about your friend, isn’t it?”

  “Jade, yes.”

  “The one who died.”

  Scarlett stared into her tea. Just the mention of her name now made her heart heavy. This wouldn’t be easy to talk about, but she needed to know.

  “She may have been poisoned,” Scarlett said.

  “That would be highly unusual,” Tabitha observed. “What makes you think so?”

  “I saw her fall. She was frothing at the mouth. It seemed like it had to be poison.”

  “But what made you suspect wolfsbane?”

  “I didn’t, until I saw the toxicology report.”

  Tabitha’s eyes widened with surprise, but she said nothing, waiting for Scarlett to go on.

  “Th
e police called me in,” said Scarlett. “They thought I was a suspect. They still do, I imagine.”

  “Why would they jump to that conclusion?”

  “I was the closest to her when it happened. I was standing right next to her, and I’d given her a cup of water from the cooler. She drank it and collapsed.”

  Tabitha crossed her arms and squinted in the brightening light of the rising sun. “Hmm, that is suspicious.”

  “It wasn’t me,” Scarlett said.

  “Of course not. You wouldn’t poison anyone. You’re not ready.”

  “What?”

  “That’s a very advanced art, you know. You shouldn’t be dabbling with it until you’re very well along in your studies.”

  “Have you ever poisoned anyone?”

  “No, and don’t be silly.”

  “But you said you’ve used wolfsbane outside the garden.”

  “I have.”

  “It has other uses, then,” Scarlett surmised.

  “Indeed it does. Its primary use for my own purposes, and one of its basic properties, truth be told, is to weaken someone’s will.”

  Scarlett let her aunt’s words sink in.

  “Tarquin,” she said finally.

  “What about him?”

  “He grows wolfsbane as well.”

  “I would be surprised if he didn’t,” Tabitha remarked with a breezy chuckle. “He is a sorcerer, you know.”

  “I know. But he wasn’t just growing it, he was harvesting it.”

  “Cultivating, you mean?”

  “He clipped a wolfsbane flower and bagged it. Which means he was planning on using it.”

  “Or preserving it,” Tabitha mused. “He could be selling it.”

  “You said it could be used to weaken someone’s will.”

  “Yes.”

  “Could anyone do that, or is it a matter of training?”

  “Training and practice, to be sure.”

  “If he’s selling it then it would most likely be as a poison,” Scarlett concluded.

  “Why do you say that?”

  Scarlett finished her tea and poured herself another cup.

  “How many witches and warlocks are there, do you think?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Tabitha. “Far too few, that’s for sure.”

  “Exactly. So it’s a very limited market, wouldn’t you think?”

  “Hmm.” Tabitha seemed to agree.

  “If he’s growing wolfsbane to sell it, then he’s probably selling it to normals. That’s a huge market. And what would a normal want with wolfsbane?”

  “Poison or protection,” Tabitha remarked.

  “Protection?” said Scarlett.

  “From wolves, of course. Or werewolves. Or any number of other supernatural assailants.”

  “And vampires?”

  “Not the most effective for vampires, I’m afraid.”

  Scarlett thought her aunt must be alluding to garlic, crosses or holy water, but felt too silly to say so out loud. She wasn’t yet sure how much of the folklore of vampires and werewolves was true.

  “So he would most likely be selling it as a poison,” Scarlett deduced.

  “If he’s selling it at all. Most sorcerers don’t, you know. And why would he? Tarquin hardly needs the money. He’s got his bookstore and a good sorcerer is never at a lack for money. He doesn’t live a lavish lifestyle.”

  “No,” Scarlett agreed. “I suppose not.”

  “Which tells you what, dear?” her aunt said, sounding a bit like a schoolmarm trying to coax an answer from one of her charges.

  “He’s not using it as a poison, but as a way to weaken someone’s will.”

  Tabitha nodded. “That does seem the likeliest reason, in my own estimation.”

  She opened the tin of biscuits and offered it to Scarlett, who shook her head. Tabitha took two for herself and closed the lid.

  “The next question that wants answering is who is Tarquin trying to control?”

  One answer leapt immediately to Scarlett’s mind.

  “Jade,” she said.

  Tabitha was already chewing a bite from one of the biscuits, but at the mention of the dead woman’s name, her jaw stopped. She seemed startled by the possibility, and washed down her bite before speaking.

  “You mean the dead girl?”

  “Yes. Maybe that’s how it happened. It wasn’t meant to poison Jade, only to weaken her will.”

  “Did she have a strong will, do you think?”

  “Ronnie certainly thought so.”

  “He’s the estate agent?”

  “Yes, and Amanda’s boyfriend. And Jade’s boss.”

  Scarlett paused for a moment to gather her thoughts.

  “Jade was trying to blackmail Ronnie,” she told Tabitha. “Or she might have been. That’s a little unclear. But I know they had a dispute. Ronnie said it was about compensation, but her husband said she was thinking of leaving the firm.”

  “And Ronnie wanted to stop her from going?”

  “I think so,” Scarlett said.

  “That’s a thread worth pulling on.”

  “You think? Let’s say Ronnie wanted to weaken Jade’s will. Who would he turn to for help? He’s not a vampire who can compel. He’s a were. So he turns to his friend, the sorcerer.”

  “Tarquin.”

  “That’s right,” Scarlett said. “He asks Tarquin for help with one of his employees. She’s about to leave him, and he can’t convince her to stay. She seems dead set on going independent. He can’t stop her, but maybe there’s a pill for that, or a tea.”

  “Oh, there certainly is.”

  “Wolfsbane.”

  “Ironic, though, don’t you think?”

  “What?”

  “A werewolf buying wolfsbane,” Tabitha said with a wry laugh.

  Caught up in her latest discovery, Scarlett continued. “Ronnie got the potion from Tarquin, something the sorcerer cooked up with wolfsbane. He tries to use it to keep Jade in the family. On the job. Maybe he was dosing her over time, and he gave her too much. An accident, surely, but if he drugged her, then it’s his fault. He tried to control her, but it went too far. And now she’s dead.”

  “It’s possible,” Tabitha admitted soberly. “But how can you prove it?”

  Scarlett frowned and took another sip of her tea.

  She noticed an odd pattern of flashing colored lights on the back fence, and wondered where they were coming from. The nearby chirp of a siren gave her the answer.

  “The police!” Scarlett exclaimed, startled.

  Tabitha stood. “Let’s go see what they want, shall we?”

  +++

  Bicester Allotments, one mile outside of Bicester Town

  Detective Inspector Rogerson arrived at the allotment mid-afternoon. Two patrol cars and a small CSI environmental unit were already there.

  He grabbed his case file from the passenger seat, got out, and approached PC Willis who was leaning against his car with a sleepy look on his face.

  “Looks like you could use some coffee, Willis.”

  “You bring any?”

  “Nah, you’re out of luck.”

  “You’re telling me.”

  “So, what have we got so far?”

  The constable shrugged. “Ask them. I’m no gardener, Inspector.”

  “Not much of a constable either, I suppose,” Rogerson said with a ribbing tone.

  The constable gave a short laugh, then looked down at his feet and shook his head.

  Rogerson moved on, stopping near where two CSI workers, wearing filter masks and latex gloves, were bagging samples of a deep-purple flower. One of them held up the bag for him to see. He opened his case file and pulled out the photo he’d printed of wolfsbane.

  “Looks like a match,” he said holding the picture to the bag.

  She nodded. “We’ll know for sure once we get it back to the lab,” said the tech.

  Rogerson pulled out his phone and called Boyle. “Looks lik
e we got it.”

  “Yeah?” Boyle responded on the other end of the line.

  “Send me the address of the registered owner.”

  “Hold on.” There was a short pause. “That would be Tabitha Slater.”

  “Right.”

  “Okay, texting it now.”

  Rogerson’s phone beeped with an incoming text.

  “Thanks,” he said. “Meet me there. It may be time to make an arrest.”

  He hung up and looked back at the CSI team. They were starting to pack up.

  Rogerson strode back to his car, leaving them to finish up.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rogers Residence, Bicester

  Cliff arrived home tired and sore. He hadn’t slept much last night. His muscles were still bruised, but the walk home had limbered him up a bit and got the blood flowing.

  Wrestling with a werewolf was no joke.

  Ronnie had been enormous and ferociously strong, plus his rationing of blood had weakened Cliff. There was no way he could subdue Ronnie by strength alone. Fortunately, he had speed and wits. Ronnie’s transformation from human to animal made him difficult to be reasoned with, but he could be outsmarted and outplayed. It had taken most of the night, but Cliff had danced and shuffled around the public park like a matador with a bull, wary of his opponent’s strength. It had been the victory of a thousand cuts, but in the end he had worn down the werewolf until exhaustion set in and the full moon set beyond the horizon.

  Now, Cliff wanted nothing more than a hot shower and a packet of blood. But not in that order.

  Blood first.

  He made a beeline for the kitchen where he found only three packets remaining in the fridge.

  Save those, he reminded himself. In truth, he wanted nothing more than to rip open all three and gulp them down.

  He also saw a one-gallon jug on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator. The jug was unmarked, but red stains around the neck betrayed the treasure within.

  Pig’s blood.

  You couldn’t buy pig’s blood on the open market, except in a dry, solid form. The fresh blood had to be purchased on the black market.

  Fortunately, Tarquin was close with a local butcher. He’d convinced him to sell a gallon of blood under the table for cash. The butcher had apparently accepted the explanation that Tarquin was taking up cooking and wanted to try his hand at making homemade black pudding. Whether the butcher was skeptical or not, Tarquin didn’t say. However, he had managed to strike a deal and told Cliff he could probably get more when the first gallon was used up. Even so, Cliff knew it was best to make the gallon he had last for as long as possible.