A Very British Witch Boxed Set

by Isobella Crowley

  Not wanting to draw attention to myself, I did the same.

  Eventually I got up the courage to try it, at first just a little on the end of a fork. It was pleasant. Not overly acidic (as fruit can be during a meal) and not overly sweet. I tried a little more. And then some with gravy covered turkey.

  Oh my god! It was really good!

  I really wasn’t expecting to like it but, nom nom nom!

  I have a container in the fridge with leftover Ambrosia in it. I think it’s probably a lot of sugar to finish off, but I had some with left over turkey yesterday, and I think I might have a bit more tonight. It’s quite an unexpected treat!

  It made me think though – I bet there are a tonne of different Thanksgiving dishes from up and down the country, quite geographically specific. I wonder if there is a way to try Thanksgiving from some other areas next year…?!

  Acupuncture vs Adrenal Fatigue

  Is working. Foot soaks – miracle drugs.

  Yay! Well, it seems like the acupuncture is helping with the adrenal fatigue. I’m almost capable of working through the day, and feel like I’m well on the way to a full recovery :)

  Actually, one of the things that has been helping a lot with sleep and also an ankle injury from going back to the gym, has been the herbs. I’ve been taking tinctures of herbs since I started with Chinese medicine earlier this year, but only recently did the acupuncturist suggest a foot soak.

  At first I thought it was a little overindulgent.

  I mean, this is what girls do to pamper themselves, right?

  Well, turns about that this particular type of foot soak, made with special herbs, is particularly good at moving damp and heat (Chinese medical terms) through the body. They’re also good at balancing hormones, boosting circulation and a host of other things. They’ve already helped with various aches and pains, and I’m feeling more mobile and able to do things at the gym.

  And they help me get to sleep at night too.

  At this rate of recovery it looks like I’ll be able to drop down to treatment just twice a week… which will be great, because it’s expensive and time consuming. (But necessary – as I’ve realized, without our health, the amount of work we can do is very limited!)

  Anyway, I’ve been using the foot soaks, but the other day I think I slept funny and gave myself a tight neck, prompting the doc to try some cupping on me.

  Now, I’ve never had it but I’ve heard people talk about it.

  And he told me that what would happen is that they would leave marks.

  No big deal, I thought. I’ll be wearing a shirt when I go out later.

  HA! No big deal?

  I got home and quickly changes, because Amy and her folks were coming over, and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror – specifically, my back. Already the cup marks were prominent and starting to bruise.

  That night when I showered they were nice a purple.

  The following day, brighter still!

  It was a weird experience at the time, but watching the recovery of the skin has been interesting.

  I’ve not decided whether I like it or not. They’re still a little sensitive, even a few days later. I’m not unaccustomed to bruises after a lifetime of martial arts – but it’s still a little unnerving. Anyway, I might try it again if he thinks it’ll help with anything, but with a bit of luck the herbs will do everything that needs doing.

  Ok, I think we’re nearly at our backmatter limit for word count allowed after the story ends.

  Thank you once again for reading, and for being a part of this series as we continue to build it out. I truly appreciate your support and 5* reviews!

  If we can get book 3 out, through the Direct process, with a bonus scene, we’ll certainly do that. Keep an eye on your inbox, and I’ll let you know as soon as I can if that’s going to be possible.

  If you’re not already signed up to receive our updates, feel free to join the tribe here:

  http://www.isobellacrowley.com

  Ok, talk soon!

  Ellie x

  A Very British Witch

  Book Three

  Mauve

  Isobella Crowley

  DEDICATION

  For the souls who dream of making the world more magical.

  — Izzie

  To everyone who ever dreamed of making a dent in the universe.

  — Ellie

  MAUVE

  A Very British Witch 03

  JIT Beta Readers

  Brian Roberts

  Jackey Hankard-Brodie

  Robert Gould

  Robert Brooks

  Chelsea Wright

  Diane L Smith

  Mary Morris

  Kris Prendergast

  Kimberley Beaulieu

  If I missed anyone, please let me know!

  Editor

  Mary Morris

  Chapter One

  Ronnie could hear them getting closer, running through the long grass, baying for his blood, teeth bared. He glanced over his shoulder to see a policeman holding a megaphone to his mouth, his voice cut through the night air like canine teeth through tender flesh.

  “If you come back now, you won’t get hurt,” the military policeman ordered as Ronnie ran through the field, leaving a green path in his wake.

  The rain pelted against his back. He mopped his hair with the back of his hand, shaking away the excess water that poured down his face, obscuring his vision. A few seconds later and it was like he hadn’t bothered.

  A cloud passed over the already partially obstructed full moon, plunging them all into momentary darkness. The dogs snarled and panted behind him, their hot breath steaming at his heels. With each step he took, he winced; his feet were going to take some time to recover from this pounding. He didn’t have to see them to know that they were caked in a layer of mud, concealing the underlying blood.

  A cluster of trees came into view as the clouds momentarily parted. If he could make it that far he might be able to lose them.

  He ran harder.

  Faster.

  Fast as he could.

  But as the trees loomed large, the undergrowth grew denser, thorns springing up from all directions, cutting his bare feet to ribbons.

  Taking cover in the trees, he knelt down, struggling to catch his breath while the dogs sought out their prey.

  Footsteps approached. “Must be around here somewhere,” one of the MPs said to another.

  Ronnie remained still as a statue while they parted the branches and prodded with a stick. On one occasion it slid under his arm, but he remained unseen. Eventually, the MPs grew weary and called off the dogs; Ronnie stayed put until the voices receded and he believed it was safe to continue.

  “There he is!”

  The fat MP thrust a finger towards Ronnie and before he knew it, a pack of snarling, growling dogs continued their hunt. Breaking out into a run, Ronnie winced again, biting his tongue, forcing himself through the pain barrier. A blanket of fatigue descended and the stars spun round overhead.

  One of the MPs in pursuit was a woman. He’d caught a glimpse of her tonight. The moonlight slipped through the cloud cover and caught her face full on; in that moment he recognized her though he couldn’t remember where. Luckily he didn’t think she’d recognized him, which came as a relief.

  The dogs’ barking grew louder. They were getting closer. Ronnie focused his eyes and continued his flight. It had been a good hour or so now since he ate, but the recent meal weighed him down, and the taste of fresh blood lingered. There was something sticky around his mouth, which he assumed was a mixture of blood and mud. He had no doubt that his hands were covered in a similar mixture.

  And that was only the half of it. When he made it home—if he made it home—he was going to have some explaining to do to Amanda. He didn’t have to go searching for a puddle or shop window to know that he was dishevelled. His hair was strewn all over his blood-soaked face.

  His mud-caked hands and feet would conceal the blood,
allowing him to wash them with no questions asked. If he could make it to the bathroom without disturbing her, he’d be okay, but that wouldn’t hide the fact that he was exhausted, ready to drop. She was bound to notice his behavior and ask questions, so he’d have to get creative.

  The dogs were gaining on him, and Ronnie was getting slower. His feet screamed at him to stop and give himself up.

  They were right behind him, snapping at his heels. Adrenaline poured over him and by the grace of something unseen he found an extra gear. He shot through the field, eyes fixed on the lights ahead.

  The panting, snarling dogs faded from earshot, and the lights drew closer. If he could keep them at arm’s length for another minute or so, he might just make it home in one piece.

  The moonlight guided him towards the entrance of a back alley, which, after a few twists and turns, led to the safety of a lamp-lit street. Even though it was the middle of the night and the inhabitants of the street were fast asleep, the MPs were unlikely to risk being seen and causing a commotion. Those were the rules of the game.

  If word got out that there was a werewolf on the prowl, all hell would break loose. People would be extra vigilant and his problems would extend far beyond tonight.

  Grimacing each time a foot hit the ground, Ronnie found the alleyway and ran straight through. It turned left, then right until, not a moment too soon, a street light came into view. From there, he could make out a grass verge on the sidewalk in front of a row of terrace houses.

  Once he was on the street, he heard one of the MPs calling the dogs away from the alleyway, a sign they’d conceded defeat. He’d given them the slip for now, but they’d be back. The MPs didn’t like being beaten and soon they’d make it a point of principle to have him behind bars.

  Despite being in the clear, he couldn’t afford to take any chances. So, after pausing for a momentary break from the agony underfoot, he broke out into a sprint. The houses rushed towards him, the wind swept back his hair, and he could still taste the blood. Loose gravel on the sidewalk dug into his feet, giving him what seemed like an incurable limp.

  With his house approaching, he relaxed a bit, a warm bath soon to be a reality.

  Pain shot through his feet, up his legs and into his gut, making him clench his jaws together like he’d just had his foot cut off without an anaesthetic. It all became too much for him. He staggered along his driveway, every step the sharp edges of gravel digging into his torn feet. The first thing he was going to do in the morning was find someone affordable to tarmac the drive.

  Someone switched on a light in the house next door. He hurried along the path, ignoring the soon-to-be-departed gravel. Less than a meter from the front door, his foot plunged into a freezing puddle. Ronnie hissed in through his teeth, before glancing at his feet. In the emanating light he was able to see the rapidly expanding clouds of red in the puddle. As the surface calmed, he caught a glimpse of himself for the first time all night.

  His face was smeared with blood and mud. His hair was plastered to his face. The light went out. He reached deep into his pocket and, to his horror, couldn’t find the key. He glanced back over his shoulder. Maybe he’d just dropped it and he’d find it on the sidewalk. He checked the other pocket and breathed a sigh of relief. It was only when the key was glinting under the moonlight in front of him that he realized it had been digging into his thigh all night.

  The lock clicked and he opened the door. The light switch to his right evaded him as he fumbled around. When the hallway was finally illuminated, the first thing he noticed was the blood all over the white light switch. He spat on his fingers and began to rub. This only exacerbated the mess, so he crept to the kitchen. Hot water gushed from the tap and splashed across his front.

  Through gritted teeth, Ronnie washed his hands, face and feet, bloodying up the hand towel. The light switch was soon looking white again, unlike his fingertips. His worried expression fast fading, he crept upstairs to take a shower, noticing that although he’d tracked in mud on his feet, it didn’t look too bloody. Of course, he could smell the blood, but Amanda wouldn’t notice. She’d just think he’d tracked it in on his training shoes. He’d see to it later when she wasn’t around to ask questions.

  The bedroom light switched on and a yellow beam illuminated the landing. Ronnie held his breath as Amanda, half asleep, stepped out of the bedroom.

  She gave him a weary-looking smile. “Have a good morning run, love? You feeling better now?”

  “Um, yeah...” he lied. “Totally brutal. Get back to bed why don’t you, I’m just going to catch a quick shower.” She began to move towards him as he scurried towards the loo.

  Ten minutes later, Ronnie emerged from the bathroom looking like he’d just been for a routine jog.

  Doing his best to disguise the pain, Ronnie tip-toed to the bedroom. He found Amanda fully dressed in her work clothes, looking good as usual.

  Her smile was only slightly less weary than before, her bloodshot eyes communicating her lingering exhaustion. “Feeling better now?”

  “Well, not really, I —”

  She moved towards him. “Here, let me help warm you up. Get you back to bed.”

  He took a step back. “N-no, stay away... I mean, I might be contagious.”

  “Well fine, I was only trying to help, but seems like you’re doing fine on your own.”

  Ronnie turned his back to her and put a foot inside the bedroom, his bed beckoning him.

  Amanda stood in silence for a moment staring at Ronnie’s back as he walked slowly towards the bed. She was growing increasingly tired of this routine but hated starting off the day with resentment, so she straightened up. “Ok well, catch you later on then. Feel better.”

  Ronnie stopped and turned his head half way ‘round, not quite looking at Amanda but almost. “Thanks, you too.”

  Amanda took a deep breath and left.

  The bedroom carpet felt like soft cotton wool compared to the driveway. Climbing into bed, Ronnie conducted a quick search for local tradesmen before slipping under the covers and turning on his side.

  +++

  Slater residence, Bicester, England

  Scarlett sat up in bed, stretched and yawned. She glanced to her left. Yes, he was still there. He was probably the only person in the world that looked sophisticated even as he slept.

  Tim opened an eye. “Ah, good morning.” Sitting up straight, he planted a kiss on her cheek. “Nice to see you.”

  “Oh Tim, it’s good to see you too.” She smiled warmly at their waking ritual. “But—sorry, must dash.”

  He held the quilt up for her to get back into bed. “Oh, come on, you can get away with being a bit late. I’ll drive you there myself. No one will ever know.”

  “You know I wish I could, but I can’t. Karl has been really grouchy of late. I don’t want to push it.” She bent down to open the drawer and felt the hem of her nightdress ride up at the back. She turned around, wearing a knowing grin.

  Tim’s eyes shot towards the window. “Looks like a nice morning, doesn’t it, darling?” He manoeuvred himself to sit on the edge of the bed where he could get a closer look.

  “Tim, get your eyes back in from their stalks, okay? I’m not some kind of modern-day Moll Flanders you know.”

  “Oh, come on, don’t tell me you don’t want to. “

  “I do want to, of course I do. But I’m late for work.” She leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. “I’ll make it up to you later, okay?”

  “Whatever you say.” He climbed back into bed, pulled the up the covers and turned on his side, watching her every move.

  Now dressed, Scarlett put on one shoe, then reached under the bed for the other. “Where is it? Have you seen it?”

  “Seen what?”

  “My shoe.”

  “And do tell, why would I have moved your shoe?”

  “I don’t know, I thought—oh just shut up. I have things to do.”

  “Okay. Have it your way.” He grinned. �
��Hmm, well, I remember now, I saw it last night, it was under there.”

  “Under where?”

  Tim suppressed his laugh. “Under the wardrobe.” He pointed at the bottom of the wardrobe, which was facing him.

  “Very funny Tim. Thanks.” Scarlett bent down to reach under the wardrobe.

  Two minutes later, Tim sat up, smiling. “OK, hold on. It’s my fault.”

  She straightened and turned to face him, confused. “What’s your fault? You’ve hidden it, is that what you’re telling me? For heaven’s sake, I’m late for work.”

  “I—I’m afraid I was playing a joke on you. I’m really sorry.”

  “A joke? I don’t believe this. Do you mean to say you didn’t see my shoe under there and I’ve just spent the last five minutes hunting around for no reason?”

  Tim grinned. “No, I just wanted to watch you looking for it. I know it’s a bit perverted but couldn’t help myself.”

  Scarlett looked up at the ceiling and let her angry expression melt away into a grin.

  “Well now that’s better. I love to see you laugh.”

  “Tim, if you weren’t so audacious—outrageous even—I’d be angry.”

  “So, you’re not?”

  Scarlett shook her head. “No, but I will be if you don’t let me get ready for work.”

  “Let me make it up to you. How about some coffee?” He rolled out of bed and pulled on the tracksuit bottoms that he’d folded neatly and placed back in the drawer the night before.

  Listening to Scarlett rushing around in the bedroom, he descended the stairs, thinking about the way she’d reacted to his joke which could have gone either way. She was simply delightful. He had a busy day ahead of him, but his job did come with certain... perks. If he had a regular mundane job, a woman like Scarlett wouldn’t look twice at him. Not a chance.