A Very British Witch Boxed Set

by Isobella Crowley

  He took the plastic jug out and set it on the counter. He was tempted to drink straight from the bottle, but thought better of it and got a glass from the cupboard. If he guzzled it, he might drink too much. Better to measure it out, and drink responsibly.

  Half a cup for now, he thought. Just enough to perk him back up and help with his recovery.

  He unscrewed the cap and poured the cold blood into the cup. It was nearly as thick as ketchup, and came out slowly. The smell was something awful. Like the pungent stench of an abattoir. Cliff had not fed on animal blood in many years. The smell of warm human blood was a sweet temptation, especially when it pulsed from the vein, but cold pig’s blood from a plastic jug was hardly appetizing.

  After screwing the cap back on, he raised the glass to his nose and gave it a sniff, like a wine connoisseur judging a new vintage.

  Not a good year, he mused wryly. He took a sip.

  The taste was foul, and the coldness didn’t help.

  I should have heated it, he thought but shook off the idea. It probably wouldn’t have made much of a difference. Pig’s blood was disgusting at any temperature.

  Setting down the glass, he leaned over the sink fighting the urge to retch. After a few gulps he found his body adjusted to the waves of nausea. The trick, as he should have suspected, was to chug it so that he scarcely tasted it at all.

  When he was done, he washed his hands and face in the kitchen sink. He put the jug back in the fridge, and when he closed the door he noticed a Post-It note stuck to the refrigerator door. On it he had written a name.

  Scarlett.

  “Dammit!” he shouted into the empty kitchen. He’d missed his date with Scarlett.

  The trouble with Ronnie had consumed his every waking thought, and he had completely blanked on his promise to meet Scarlett at the pub.

  He pulled out his phone and tried calling her, but it went to voicemail.

  “Scarlett, it’s me. I’m so sorry. I’m such an idiot. Something came up. I can’t explain right now, but call me. I can explain, and I’ll make it up to you. Just… call me, okay?”

  +++

  Aunt Tabitha’s Residence, Bicester, England

  Scarlett listened furtively from her hiding place in the hallway as Tabitha answered the door.

  “Good morning, ma’am. Are you Tabitha Slater?” asked a man who Scarlett recognized as the detective inspector.

  Rogerson, she thought, recalling the name. He had been the one who interrogated her at the station. His was a voice she wouldn’t soon forget.

  “Yes,” Tabitha said.

  “I’m DI Rogerson. This is DS Boyle. We’d like to talk to you for a moment, if that’s all right.”

  “It’s all right with me, detectives.”

  “May we come in?”

  “Oh, yes. Please do.”

  Scarlett heard the scuffling of feet on the tile. Tabitha was still in slippers and her footsteps made a light brushing sound. The two policemen were heavier with hard-soled shoes that clacked against the floor, one pair significantly heavier-sounding than the other.

  “Would you care for some tea?” Tabitha asked the men.

  “No thank you, ma’am,” said Rogerson. “This shouldn’t take long. We just have a few questions.”

  “Well, come sit down over here so we can talk. I don’t get company very often, you know, so this is a nice surprise.”

  Scarlett heard them move toward the sofa and the upholstered chairs. The heavy whoosh of the cushions told her that the two men had chosen to sit on the sofa. The wooden legs of a chair squeaked against the floor, and Scarlett understood the sound to be Tabitha adjusting the position of a chair before she sat down across from the visitors.

  “We’re investigating a recent death in town,” Rogerson said.

  “Jade, is it?” Tabitha asked.

  “Yes. What do you know about the incident?”

  “I read about it in the paper,” Tabitha said.

  “Of course. Well, that’s why we’re here.”

  “How did she die?” Tabitha asked. “The paper was pretty vague about that.”

  “Yes, well, we prefer to keep some information out of the papers while the investigation is still ongoing. We believe Jade may have been poisoned.”

  “How?”

  “We don’t know the how,” Rogerson said. “But the poison was Aconitum.”

  “Ah,” said Tabitha. “And that’s why you came to me.”

  “Yes. We found Aconitum growing in your allotment.”

  “That’s a clever bit of inspecting, Detective. I’m quite impressed.”

  “So do you know that you’re growing a poison in your little plot of soil?” Rogerson asked.

  “I ought to know. It’s my allotment.”

  Rogerson sighed. “What can you tell us about Aconitum, ma’am?”

  “Well, let me see. It’s a flowering plant. A bluish, purplish hue to it. Quite deadly, as you may have guessed. It has many names. Devil’s Helmet. Monkshood. Wolfsbane.”

  “What else?”

  “It’s very dangerous if ingested.”

  “Dangerous how?”

  “In severe cases, Monkshood can cause vomiting, dizziness and diarrhea. Then comes the palpitations. Then, it paralyzes the heart and the air passages. And then, if you’re lucky, you die.”

  “Why is it called Monkshood?”

  “For the same reason it’s called Devil’s Helmet,” said Tabitha. “The shape of the flower resembles the hood of a monk’s cloak drawn over his head.”

  “You said it was also called wolfsbane?”

  “Yes, because the poison is so toxic that it was once used to kill wolves.”

  “How is it administered?” Rogerson asked. “In a single dose, or…”

  “Not necessarily,” Tabitha said. “In smaller quantities, it can build up until—”

  Scarlett’s phone rang. She saw that it was Cliff trying to reach her.

  Not now.

  She sent the call to voicemail.

  When she looked up from her phone she saw Rogerson staring at her from the entrance to the hallway.

  She smiled at him and moved away and backed into the guest bedroom as if that’s where she belonged.

  The conversation in the living room resumed. From the guest room, Scarlett could hear bits and pieces of the conversation, but the voices were more muffled.

  From what Scarlett was able to gather, Tabitha was now explaining to the police how to extract the poison from the plant.

  Scarlett had to stifle her frustration at her aunt. She was talking too much, and possibly incriminating herself. Though Scarlett knew perfectly well that Tabitha would not have killed Jade, she wasn’t making things any easier on herself.

  Tabitha, what are you doing? You sound so guilty! You aren’t even trying to play dumb.

  “I’m afraid,” said Rogerson, raising his voice to a commanding tone that echoed in the hall. “I’m going to have to take you in. You are under arrest.”

  No! Scarlett wanted to scream.

  She reached the living room just in time to see her aunt being put in handcuffs.

  “Stop! Wait!” said Scarlett, bursting into the room. “What are you doing?”

  “Your aunt is under arrest for suspicion of murder,” replied Rogerson.

  Scarlett threw her hands up in disbelief. “She didn’t do it! She’s innocent.”

  “That’s for the court to decide,” said the other detective.

  “It’s okay, Scarlett,” Tabitha said. “These men aren’t going to harm me. They’re just doing their job the best they can.”

  Scarlett wanted to punch the policemen in the face and make them go away, but all she could do was protest.

  “I can’t believe you’re doing this! She’s never hurt anyone. This is an outrage! I’m going to call your chief! I’m going to call the papers! I’m going to call the TV station! This is wrong. This can’t be happening.”

  Rogerson gave Scarlett a sympathetic
look. “Scarlett, please. Stay out of this. Go to your own home. Your aunt will get her phone call.”

  With that, they took Tabitha outside and placed her into a squad car.

  +++

  Malaprop’s Bookstore, Bicester, England

  After she locked up Tabitha’s house Scarlett hurried to the bookstore to see Tarquin. She ended up having to park in her own driveway and run into town. She was breathing hard by the time she got there.

  “Tarquin!” Scarlett shouted as she barreled through the front door.

  She looked around but saw no one.

  He must be in the back.

  She headed to the atrium and Tarquin’s office. “Tarquin! I need to talk to you.”

  Scarlett opened his office door without knocking, and saw Tarquin working at his desk. He had his phone in hand and seemed like he was about to make a call.

  “Just a moment, Scarlett,” he said, and dialed. “Close the door please. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  Scarlett was panting heavily and needed a moment to catch her breath. She nodded, and backed away, closing his office door to give him some privacy for his call.

  A minute or two later, Tarquin stepped out to talk with her.

  Scarlett spoke before he could open his mouth. “You’re growing Aconitum!”

  “Scarlett, there’s no need to shout. I’m standing right here.”

  “Wolfsbane!”

  He stood firm, and seemed unperturbed by her state of mild aggression. Almost flippant. “Yes, I know what it is. What of it?”

  “You were picking Aconitum the other evening, when I saw you. It was a full moon and twilight and that’s when the flower is most infused with its magical juju. Isn’t that right?”

  “No, actually.”

  The front door opened, and Scarlett turned to see Cliff entering the shop.

  She felt her body tense.

  What is he doing here? He stood me up, the bastard.

  “Scarlett,” Cliff said quickly. “I’m so sorry.”

  It was bad enough sitting at the bar alone with everyone staring at her, knowing or suspecting that she’d been rejected. Did he have to interrupt her conversation to play this out in front of a mutual acquaintance?

  Scarlett turned back to Tarquin, giving Cliff the cold shoulder. “You were saying…”

  “I called Cliff,” he said. “I told him you were here.”

  Scarlett glared at Tarquin. It wasn’t fair. She didn’t want to deal with Cliff right now. She had more important matters to attend to. Even so, it seemed he’d have to be dealt with right away.

  “I tried to call you,” Cliff said, with an apologetic tone.

  “After the fact!”

  “I know, and I’m sorry.”

  “Do you have any idea how long I waited for you?”

  “Too long?”

  “Much too long. I felt so stupid just sitting there, hoping you’d show up or call or something! But you didn’t.”

  “I know, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. I was wrong. Something came up, but it doesn’t excuse my not calling you.”

  She crossed her arms and turned to face him. “I have every right to be mad at you.”

  “You should be mad at me,” he agreed. “I’m mad at myself. Everyone should be mad at me.”

  “I’m not,” Tarquin offered.

  “Well, you should be,” Cliff said to him. “Scarlett’s your friend, too, and the way I treated her last night was completely unacceptable.”

  When Tarquin didn’t respond, Cliff turned back to Scarlett. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how else to say it. I was wrong, and I’m sorry, and I know that I hurt you. I hate that I did that, but I did, and it will never happen again, I promise.”

  Scarlett stood with her arms still crossed, waiting for him to finish.

  “Do you accept my apology?” he asked finally.

  She felt like she should make him squirm a bit longer, but he did seem sincere and she could see the guilt and remorse in his face.

  “Yes,” she said curtly. “But that’s the last time.”

  “Of course,” he said. “Wait— the last time for what?”

  “That I’ll let you do that to me.”

  “You don’t mean the last time you’ll see me?”

  “No,” she said. “I expect you to make it up to me, though.”

  He sighed in relief, a smile returning to his face. “I will.”

  Tarquin cleared his throat. “Well, now that that’s resolved, I believe we have something a tad more important to discuss.”

  “Wolfsbane,” Cliff said.

  Scarlett looked at him in surprise. “You know?” she asked him.

  “That’s what Tarquin called me about. You’re too involved.”

  “Too involved?” she asked. “Of course I’m involved. I knew Jade, and she died right in front of me, and now the police are interrogating me, and arresting my aunt, like she had anything to do with this.”

  “Then let them handle it,” Tarquin suggested.

  “They don’t know what they’re doing!” she exclaimed.

  Tarquin held her gaze. “And you do?”

  “I know more than they do,” she said. Then, lowering her voice, continued. “I know a lot of things. About a lot of people.”

  Tarquin gave her a warning look. “Things you should keep to yourself.”

  Cliff started to pace. “Why do you have to fix everything?”

  Scarlett felt her blood pressure rise. He knew as well as she did.

  “Because otherwise I’m the one who’s going to go to prison!” She huffed and turned away. She wanted to hit something, or someone, but instead she just let the tension build inside of her and tried to contain it. “Or my aunt will.”

  “Tabitha?” Tarquin said.

  “She’s been arrested!”

  Cliff looked shocked, then glanced to Tarquin, and back to Scarlett. “Are you sure?”

  “About twenty minutes ago. I was there.”

  Cliff and Tarquin didn’t say anything, but a conspiracy of glances passed between them. They both looked guilty.

  Tarquin had some role in this, Scarlett was sure of it. And now Cliff was here too, seemingly to support him. Maybe he was in on it too. Involved in some way. He was acting differently, not like himself. He seemed edgier somehow. Almost guilty. And not just about standing her up the night before.

  And where was he last night, anyway? Trying to cover his tracks, or Tarquin’s? He’d given her an apology, but no explanation. Whatever Cliff’s secret was, Tarquin seemed to know it, and neither one of them seemed eager to share the truth with her.

  Something was going on between the two of them, and she didn’t like it.

  Not one bit.

  “At least now I know why you called Cliff,” she said to Tarquin. “You two need to stick together, don’t you?”

  “What do you mean?” Cliff asked.

  “To keep your stories straight.” She stared daggers at Tarquin. “Must be easier when you have a vampire at your side, eh?”

  She stormed out of the bookstore, and when the front door had swung closed behind her, she texted Tim.

  “Can we meet? Tabitha has been arrested.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Main Bar, Bicester Hotel, Bicester, England

  Scarlett met Tim at the hotel bar. He was waiting for her when she arrived. Stepping in from the daylight, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust, but he wasn’t hard to find. There were only three other people in the room, the bartender and two women talking at a table in the back.

  Tim had staked out a corner table away from the chit-chatting ladies. He was working on a coffee, and scribbling on a notepad. He had his laptop with him, but it was closed.

  He looked up when she entered, and waved at her to join him.

  “I would have got you a beer,” he said. “But I didn’t know how long it would take you to get here.”

  “I made good time.”

  “Let me get you som
ething,” he said. “London Pride?” he offered.

  “Guinness this time, I think. Just a half though.” At least that might take the edge off. After all, it was her mid-week ‘Saturday’.

  “Guinness it is.”

  He went to the bar and she sat at the table. His notebook was open, and she could see fresh writing on the page. The ink still looked wet in spots. From her vantage point, the words were upside down. He had a foreign-looking scrawl, and she doubted that she’d even be able to read his writing in the proper orientation, but didn’t dare test her theory. Instead, she gave the lines a few furtive glances while Tim was at the bar with his back to her. She could make out a few words here and there. The one that stood out the most was “Tabitha.”

  He must know she’s been arrested, Scarlett thought, and for a moment she wondered how he knew. Then she remembered that she had told him in her text. She had been so furious and frazzled on her walk over, angry at Cliff and Tarquin, that she had almost forgotten the purpose of meeting Tim.

  Tim returned with her beer, and another for himself.

  “So I called the station house,” he said as he sat back down. He closed his notebook, as if concerned about her prying eyes. “Your aunt is being held for questioning, but I don’t think they’ll hold her long.”

  “How long?”

  “Overnight, would be my guess. And then she’ll be arraigned and her bail set. Or they’ll release her on her own recognizance.”

  Scarlett frowned. “I can’t afford much bail.”

  “She’s hardly a flight risk,” he said. “But I can help you through the process. It can be a bit intimidating the first time.”

  “First time? I don’t intend to make a habit of this.”

  “Your aunt might,” he said.

  That seemed cruel. She sipped her beer and glared at him over the chilled glass.