A Very British Witch Boxed Set

by Isobella Crowley

  Coffee was his guilty pleasure. Only the finest beans would do. He took the bag of medium Costa Rican roast from the cupboard, tipped two spoons full of the fine dark brown grounds into the filter machine and flipped the switch.

  As the appliance gurgled and made the noise that only filter machines can, Tim sat at the table and caught up with the day’s headlines while savouring the glorious aroma.

  Nothing much had happened over night. Another drop in the housing market, another budget crisis, another politician caught in bed with his secretary. All the usual trivialities that lit up people’s day up and down the countryside.

  Beethoven rang out around the room and his phone vibrated across the table. He read the message twice before sitting back in stunned amazement. This was big news, far bigger than those headline stories that he’d been skimming over moments earlier. Tim reached for his coffee and took a long gulp, swirling it round in his mouth, savouring every last drop.

  Once he’d reached the bits at the bottom of the mug, he pushed it away, took another whiff of the aromatic coffee and got to his feet. After rereading the message for a final time, he shot off up the stairs.

  Bursting through the bedroom door, he tried to look calm and composed. The hot and flustered look was not the kind of image he wanted to portray to anyone, let alone a woman like Scarlett, whom upon entering he found spread out on the floor flat on her stomach halfway under the bed.

  “What's going on here Scarlett? I thought you didn’t have time to stay in bed with me and here I find you alone under the bed of all places?”

  “Haha Tim, It’s the shoe silly. It’s here. I can see it.”

  “Can you? Oh good. Well, I’m absolutely sorry for the joke I played earlier. But you do look good when you bend over.”

  Scarlett emerged from under the bed.

  “Well darling, I have to dash.” Tim grabbed his own shoes, which were significantly easier to locate. “Something big’s going off. Pretty heavy stuff by all accounts. I’ll see you later yes?”

  Tim rushed up next to Scarlett and gave her a short yet passionate kiss.

  “Oh, yes—see you later, Tim. Now go on. I don’t want us both to be late.”

  “Neither do I love, and if your boss gives you any hassle just blame it on me and I’ll pop by and straighten things out later with him if needed. Bye for now.”

  “Always the gent aren’t you? Thanks Tim, I adore knowing I have back up. Now get along before we get ourselves into trouble here.”

  She waved him off with her hands and he bolted off with hesitation, lingering for a slight moment on the thought of Scarlett’s idea of trouble.

  Scarlett was lost on a different train of thought as she reached under the bed. Shoes seem to be able to wander off on their own—with or without feet to guide them. Her fingers brushed the heel, pushing it further away. She was definitely going to be late, there was no two ways about it.

  Flustered, she scooted out from under the bed and scurried over to the wardrobe to grab a hanger then got back under the bed, finally getting a hold of the shoe by hooking it with the hanger. She balanced on one foot, put on the shoe and exited the room. Finally off to work.

  Chapter Two

  Secure facility, RAF Bicester, Launton

  “Morning, Tim,” the receptionist, a short plain woman, said to him as he entered the building.

  Tim just grunted and continued on his way. He couldn’t understand why they needed a receptionist. It hadn’t been his idea. As far as he was concerned, the fewer people that knew about this operation the better. He closed the door and strode down the corridor.

  He’d only taken a few steps when voices drifted his way. Voices. Maybe that was a bit of hyperbole. Maybe ‘sounds’ would be a better description.

  Turning the handle, he pressed his shoulder to the door and pushed it open, as was his daily routine. What he saw never ceased to amaze or intrigue him.

  Stepping along the aisle, he inspected the occupants one by one. To his left was a cage, in which there lay a naked man, curled up like a dog in the corner. A puddle of blood had formed in front of his face. Tim took a step closer. The man was asleep, so not a threat. But when it got dark he would be awake, and then—

  He came to a large, white, pleated screen on castors. Pausing for a second, he listened to the strange wailing coming from beyond. The wailing stopped. Something sniffed, then panted, then growled. Whatever it was wasn’t in the best of moods. Tim continued along the aisle wearing a completely blank expression. The sooner he received his brief, the sooner he could get to work.

  With one foot on the stairs, something cried out behind him. He turned around, scanned the room for the culprit then took another step up the staircase. Whatever it was shouted again, something loud, high pitched, and incomprehensible. The poor creature had no idea what was in store for it. Eventually, like the rest of them, it would be moved upstairs and given something to shout about.

  A strange smell drifted down the staircase. Some kind of chemical substance mixed with the oily smell that was everywhere in this ex-RAF hanger. Grasping the metal banister, he clomped his way up the stairs, looking over the steel mesh railings at the creatures in the cages below.

  The beings upstairs were far more interesting. Straining his neck to see the cages in front of the mesh fence that lined one side of the upper floor, Tim caught a glimpse of a shadow. The lights were bright up there, with each cage having its own light that was in addition to the main overhead lights.

  His gut told him that someone or something was watching him climb the stairs, at which point he shielded his eyes to get a good look. At first glance there was nothing strange about the man in the third cage along. He was just a regular guy, in jeans and a pullover. He slithered a smile, revealing a row of teeth that gleamed in the light, his sinister eyes watching each step with interest as Tim continued to climb the stairs.

  Once on the upper floor, Tim turned to get a view of the cages' inhabitants, just as he had downstairs, but this time, something made him want to look away. Even hardened souls like his could feel repelled by certain sights. Sights that were not wholly humane.

  Wing Commander Gregory emerged from his office at the far end and proceeded to move towards him, smiling and nodding, as if eager to talk.

  “Thanks for coming in at such short notice, Tim. Something rather extraordinary has turned up. Walk with me.”

  Tim stepped up beside his C.O., then proceeded to walk along the aisle, shoulder to shoulder with his superior.

  “Rather a delicate matter, Tim. I trust I have your utmost discretion on this?”

  “Oh, of course, Danny. Goes without saying.”

  “Oh, good. Righto then, here goes. Better brace yourself.” The C.O. continued, “We received some rather disturbing reports about a large dog-like beast worrying the local cattle during the night. Well, when I say worry, I mean more like ripping them to shreds.”

  “Sir?”

  “Yes. So we sent a few units to take a look. Scoured all the local farmer’s fields for miles without finding a damn thing. And then, close to a residential estate, they clapped eyes on the culprit.”

  Tim’s eyes lit up and he let loose a flood of inquiry. “Fascinating. What was it? Where is it? Can I see it?”

  “Afraid not. Blasted thing got away. Chased it right across the field until it escaped down an alleyway. Got out onto the streets, so I assume, at which point—”

  “Oh, I completely understand. Don’t want to go opening that can of worms.”

  “Exactly, Tim, exactly. So, our suspect is still at large.” The C.O. took a deep breath and shook his head, his expression like a shepherd that had lost his most beloved sheep.

  Tim noticed the look on his C.O.’s face. “What is it, Danny?”

  “What a waste.”

  “Not quite with you, Danny.”

  “I mean about Mauve.”

  “Mauve?”

  “Yes, Mauve. That was the name of the cow that had it
s intestines splattered all around the field.”

  “Good lord.”

  “Not a pretty sight. Not a pretty sight at all.”

  “Hmm. Didn’t have you pegged as an animal lover, Danny.”

  “No, I’m not. It’s just that—Mauve wasn’t like any other cow.”

  “Really?”

  “No, Mauve was one of them prize-winning cows. Only last month, it was in some kind of national show. Shown live each Wednesday night for three weeks on the BBC.”

  “Oh, and Mauve won did it?”

  “It did indeed Tim, it did indeed. And not just a category winner neither. Mauve was supreme champion. Like a kind of bovine Crufts winner. It was in the newspapers up and down the country.”

  Tim’s expression turned grim. “Good God.”

  “Mmm. Glad you get the picture, Tim. We can’t afford a mistimed fart over this one.”

  “I understand, Danny. Don’t want word to get out, do we?”

  “Absolutely not.” The C.O. took a deep breath. “Shudder to think what the gutter press will make of it. Can you imagine the headlines, Tim?”

  “I don’t want to imagine them.”

  “And then there’s the BBC. Once they get their claws into it, it‘ll be on every damn newsreel in the world in no time. All over social media and everything. We’ll be under surveillance twenty-four hours a day.”

  “I fully understand, Danny.”

  They reached the end of the aisle for the second time. “So, I want a blackout on this. Absolutely no press coverage at all. And more to the point, I don’t want them to even suspect there’s something untoward going on.”

  “I get the picture. No room for maneuver at all. Not even enough for a mistimed f—.”

  “Glad you understand. I knew you would. And I knew I could trust you with such a delicate matter.” He held open the door to his office. “Come in, Tim, I want to show you something.”

  Tim followed Gregory into his office, which was no bigger than a decent-sized broom cupboard, and shut the door.

  “Take a seat old chap.” The C.O. opened a drawer and pulled out a pile of photos. “Here, take a look at these.”

  Tim took one look and turned away in disgust. The photo on top was of the remnants of a cow that had been mutilated, just as the C.O. had described. All the evidence pointed towards an animal attack. “What do we think it could have been?”

  “We don’t know for certain, but we can rule out the possibility of a vampire attack. Too much blood around the vicinity of the carcass. Not in their nature to go wasting it like that.”

  “I agree. Could it be a werewolf attack?”

  “Quite possibly. Maybe it was in human form by the time our lads got to it. They gave whatever it was a damn good run for their money, but in the end, it was just too fast for them.”

  Tim gathered up the photos. “Well then, I’ll crack on if that’s okay. I’ll set the wheels in motion right away. See what we can come up with.”

  “Splendid, Tim.”

  They got up, opened the office door and stepped back out into the aisle.

  From the corner of his eye, Tim caught a glimpse of Simon Moseley, the Wing Commander in charge of the facility. He locked eyes with Gregory and the two of them walked towards each other, meeting in the middle of the lab.

  “Keep me posted, Flight Lieutenant,” Gregory muttered, giving him a nod.

  “Yes, sir,” Tim responded, respectfully, now that they were within earshot of others.

  Tim turned to walk back along the aisle, keeping his ears open.

  Moseley had also noticed him and was approaching the Wing Commander, clipboard in hand. “Everything okay, sir?” he asked, eyeing Tim suspiciously.

  “Everything is fine, Moseley.” Gregory glanced purposefully at the clip board. “You’ve got something for me?”

  “Yes. I wondered if I might have a moment?”

  “Fine. Walk with me. I’m due upstairs…”

  The two Wing Commanders turned and headed for the elevators, walking side by side, feet in unison, voices lowered now. When the doors opened, they stepped inside. Gregory produced his security pass and the doors closed.

  Listening to the smooth whine of the elevator, Tim waited for the ping before clearing his head and focusing on the task that lay before him.

  +++

  Bicester Vintner’s, Bicester, England

  Ronnie dodged around the old ladies with snapping Westies, old men with walking sticks, and teenagers lost within their phones, to find himself standing outside the Bicester Vintner’s.

  He pulled the door open and stepped inside. All around him were bottles of wine, some in crates and some on shelves, some laid sideways on a bed of hay.

  Despite not being a wine lover, Ronnie was a regular visitor, not just for the wine, but because he had business to attend to with Karl, the owner.

  Resting on the unmanned till, Ronnie leaned over and coughed.

  “Be right with you,” a voice called from round the back.

  Ronnie waited patiently while Karl’s footsteps grew louder, until he emerged through the doorway, grinning. “What can I—oh, Ronnie.” His face fell flat.

  Ronnie thought about making some kind of joke to get his revenge but decided against the idea. From Karl’s demeanor, he could guess that nothing about his person caused Karl to be suspicious in any way. Ronnie mulled this over and realized that if Karl didn’t suspect anything, then he must look perfectly normal to everyone. He obviously hadn’t heard the news or, if he had, didn’t have the slightest inkling that Ronnie was involved.

  He’d slept like a log for a bit after Amanda had left for work. Taken another shower when he awoke, then put on his work attire. He’d checked his face and hands for anything conspicuous at least three times. His feet still felt like razor blades, and this blasted fever from his infection was still making a nuisance of itself, but other than that everything was perfectly normal.

  “How are you Ronnie? Still not feeling too clever?”

  “I’m much better now, thank you, but I had a close shave last night, I tell you.”

  “Really? Do tell?”

  Ronnie recounted the previous night’s events. He didn’t intend to make things sound worse than they were; it’s just that the dogs formed his most vivid memories. And now, in the cold light of day, his brush with death felt much closer.

  “I barely escaped in one piece, Karl.”

  “Sounds like quite an ordeal.”

  “It was. I—” Ronnie leaned in.

  Karl reciprocated until their heads were close to touching across the counter.

  Ronnie lowered his voice to a whisper. “I don’t want to go through that again for the next two nights, I can tell you.”

  Standing back, Karl took a deep breath and paused for thought. When he opened his mouth to talk, the concern that was written all over his face made itself audible. “Well, not to worry.”

  “Not to worry? Is that all you have to say?”

  “Not to worry, because we’ll get you chained up.”

  “Chained up? Where?”

  “You could go in Tarquin’s back room. He won’t mind. I’ll have a word with him.”

  Ronnie wasn’t sure what to make of this latest development but before he could respond, the door swung open and they jolted around together like Siamese twins.

  “And what are you two gossiping about?” Scarlett grinned as she removed her coat and placed it on a hanger.

  Karl smiled back at her. “Oh, err, nothing. We were just catching up. We haven’t seen each other for a while.”

  Scarlett recalled seeing Ronnie in the shop only a few days ago but decided to play along. A ray of sun shone right in, making her squint and turn her head so that she was looking at Ronnie full on.

  “Ronnie! What on Earth’s happened to you? Wow, you look dreadful.”

  Ronnie laughed. “Why thank you Scarlett. Shall I take that as a sordid compliment?”

  “Ronnie, I’m serious.
You’d better get home to bed right now or I’m calling Amanda.”

  Karl nodded. “Yeah, she’s right Ronnie, you’re not looking too chipper come to think of it.”

  “Well I’ve definitely seen better days, but had no idea I was such an eyesore.”

  Scarlett’s ears pricked and she looked at Karl, puzzled.

  “Is something wrong, Scarlett?” Karl asked with an air of authority.

  Scarlett shrugged. “Oh, no, nothing. I’ll err, make a start with the stock taking, should I?”

  Ronnie said goodbye to them both and left the shop, trying to picture how it would be next time he met Karl.

  Chapter Three

  RAF Bicester, Launton

  It took Tim a full ten minutes to arrive at the scene, during which time he’d managed to conjure up a line of questioning that was going to get to the bottom of things.

  Just as he’d suspected, the scene swarmed with military. His first job was ascertaining if everyone knew what was expected of them.

  “Good morning,” Tim called, stepping out from his car.

  A group of five soldiers stopped what they were doing. “Oh, good morning, sir,” each of them said as they raised their hands to salute.

  “As you were.” He paused to glance up at the gray sky, soaking his face with a fine drizzle for his trouble. “No, on second thought, let’s have a team meeting. Come on, gather around.”

  Addressing the huddle of soldiers that surrounded him, Tim began to execute the plan he’d devised on the way there. “Now, I trust you all know that this is top secret material.”

  They all nodded and said, “Yes, sir,” in turn.

  “Right, so what have we come up with thus far?”

  A tall soldier with a freshly shaved head stepped forward. “Not much I’m afraid, sir. Nothing new anyway.”

  “I see. And what about last night? Did any of you witness what happened first-hand?”

  The men Tim was addressing were the first men on the scene the night before, they were the first to find the eviscerated cow, and they were the first to take pursuit of the beast responsible.