A Very British Witch Boxed Set

by Isobella Crowley

  Karl was the first to keep watch. He just sat on a wooden bench opposite the cage, leaning forward on his elbows, pushing his cheeks right up into his eyes. He didn’t move or utter a single word for what felt like hours until he stood up straight, stretched and gave Tarquin a nudge.

  “Do you think Cliff’s going to show up? I don’t want to be up all night doing this.”

  Tarquin sat up. “I hope so.” If his tone of voice was anything to go by, he’d just clocked that Karl gets more cranky than usual when he hasn’t had enough sleep. “I’ll give you a nudge in three hours, Karl.”

  “Fine.”

  +++

  Cliff pounded his palms against the steering wheel. “Come on, get out of my way!” Glancing through the open window he lowered his voice. “How long does it take to get across a road for heaven’s sake?”

  The lights turned from red to amber to green and Cliff hit the accelerator, almost ploughing into the car in front. “Come on!” Once in the clear, he shot past the lights, avoiding a collision with the cars in front that crossed his path by a hair’s breadth.

  Finally hitting the open road, Cliff shook his head. That would have been most inconvenient. Imagine if he’d knocked down that man, the police would be swarming; he'd miss his appointment and yet another opportunity to find a new supplier would go begging.

  “Don’t change, don’t you dare change!” Another set of lights approached and it wasn’t long before he observed some teenagers heading for the crossing.

  “Don’t press the button!”

  They pressed the button and, a few seconds later, the red light illuminated. Luckily for Cliff though, this time he was right at the front of the queue.

  The teenagers crossed the road, laughing, shoving each other, shouting nonsense. Mid-way across the road, they stopped to take another look on their phones, refusing to budge even as the lights changed.

  Cliff sounded a long blast of his horn. “Come on!” he shouted through the window.

  No response. Straining to get a closer look, wondering if they might be deaf, he noticed they had earbuds in. This time his horn was so long and loud that passers-by on the sidewalk turned their heads to see what the fuss was about. Fortunately, a middle-aged woman alerted the kids of the angry traffic and they left the road.

  Glaring through the window, Cliff shot off, shaking his fist at the kid that gave him the finger. The road was relatively clear after that and, despite a couple of close squeaks with passing lorries, he reached his destination bang on time. “I’m never having kids,” he muttered to himself as he stepped from the car.

  Chapter Six

  University Hospital Coventry & Warwickshire Cliff Bridge Road, Coventry, UK

  Cliff strode into the hospital foyer and made a beeline straight for the cafeteria. He’d been working his new contact consistently for a few weeks now, but because he wasn’t at full strength his abilities weren’t as powerful either.

  Karl had of course offered to help him, but something about personal pride and being a vampire who could look after himself made him determined to fix this problem himself. Even if it meant a few more days of hunger.

  He arrived in the cafeteria, and checked his watch for the time. His target would be likely taking his break any minute now. Orderlies, unlike the other medical staff, seemed to be able to keep a more regular routine. Either that or it was just this guy.

  Either way, he wandered over to the quieter part of the large room, and sat himself down at one of the grubby, but available tables. In all likelihood he’d have to move once his target arrived anyway, at which point he planned to make a show of getting a coffee and then sitting down at the same table as the guy in order to make it look less suspicious.

  That had been the routine for the last several occasions anyway, and he’d got away without causing a scene this far. All he needed was another few minutes of influence and he felt sure his new blood supply would be secured.

  He sat down, regretting the choice of table almost instantly: one of the legs on his chair was shorter than the others and the table itself also moved around like it was on a ship. In the center was a dirty plastic tray with a couple of stained mugs. A puddle of dry coffee adorned the opposite side of the table.

  His phone rang. Cliff took it from his pocket, glanced at the caller display, noted the contemptuous looks from the surrounding gray brigade, and pressed the red button. The way he was feeling, he would have told Karl a few home truths. At least ignoring his call meant he could make up some excuse later on.

  Cliff, absorbed in thought, didn’t look up when the orderly approached the table, but the aroma of bland hospital food caught his attention.

  The orderly looked uncharacteristically distant, like his body was in the here and now, but his mind was miles away. His glazed eyes stared right through Cliff; his face was pale and his lips were straight as a ruler. He just stood there, looking down at his plate of chips and beans as if staring into a bottomless well.

  Cliff pushed out the chair opposite him with his foot. “Please, sit,” he said quietly, using his pushing ability to influence the man.

  Obediently, the orderly reached out and pulled the chair back enough to sit down.

  Cliff felt a relief inside his chest. It seemed as though all these sessions of talking to the orderly were finally paying off. He had logged the instructions he had left him with last time and come to sit with him directly, instead of Cliff having to go to him.

  This was indeed progress!

  Glancing around the room at the legions of elderly people, and worn out doctors, Cliff wondered if anyone had noticed them. He didn’t think anyone around looked familiar enough to have seen them on more than one occasion, and this was certainly less suspicious than being seen in a darkened car park.

  A woman approached, pushing an old man in a wheelchair, a red blanket across his lap. The man’s head hung loose over his shoulder, but he was still managing to muster a smile. “Excuse me,” the woman said to the orderly, who had one hand on the back of the chair.

  The orderly stepped forward by the side of the chair, while simultaneously pushing the chair in to allow them to pass.

  The woman brushed past and muttered her thanks then moved on to her next victims a few tables down. Several people glanced briefly down the way at where the woman had come from and acknowledged Cliff, who was looking in their direction. Cliff wondered if his idea of meeting his person in an innocuous place where they could blend in was really a good idea after all.

  Not for the first time that day, Cliff fought to swallow his frustration. The trouble with people was they always behaved like people do. It was either one extreme or the other. It was either a refusal to acknowledge a person’s existence or intrusive stares, hoping to get a glimpse into someone else’s world and leave their own troubles behind for a moment.

  It was with little hesitation then that he decided to get down to business.

  Watching him sit on the chair opposite, Cliff nodded to him. “Good—”

  The orderly lifted his fork and started eating, his jaws going around and around, churning the food like some kind of mixer, his face remaining expressionless. Without looking down, the man loaded his fork, moved it towards his mouth and repeated the process.

  Cliff cleared his throat, but the orderly didn’t flinch. It was if he was sitting in the middle of nowhere, overcome with numbness, eating food that gave him no pleasure at all, just to stay alive.

  Keeping his voice down to a minimum Cliff started talking, watching carefully for a moment when they would make eye contact. Cliff wondered why the orderly was so dumbed down on this occasion. Normally he’d awkwardly acknowledge Cliff, suggesting that he had some inkling of social norms, but now it was like he was just part of the furniture. He put the difference down to his weakened abilities.

  It took a moment but after a few words the orderly locked eyes with him. As Cliff spoke, his voice sounded like silk over steel and he made everything he said as clear as
possible as he communicated with his quarry. How his previous supplier had let him down, what he was looking for and what he expected of the orderly.

  By the time Cliff had finished talking, all that remained on the white plate was a smattering of red sauce and a couple of chips.

  “Do you understand?” Cliff asked.

  The knife and fork clattered against the plate and the orderly acknowledged him for the first time, at last showing some signs of intelligent life. “I understand.”

  Cliff sat right back in his chair, relieved that finally his powers of compulsion had done the job. “Well, I think that concludes our business, don’t you?” Cliff said. “Tomorrow you’ll bring what I need.”

  The orderly nodded. “Yes. Tomorrow,” he parroted back.

  Cliff reached across the table and took a chip, causing the orderly to scowl and slap Cliff’s hand as he withdrew his arm. Cliff smiled. Chewing on the chip, he slid back his chair, got to his feet and swallowed, coughing when the chip went down the wrong way. When the resulting bout of coughing and spluttering had finished, Cliff took a deep breath and said, “See you tomorrow then. Don’t be late.”

  The orderly finished the last of his chips and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  +++

  RAF Bicester, Launton

  Tim switched off his PC, kicked back his chair, clasped the back of his head in his hands and let out a sigh of relief. It had been a long day, but there was more to be done. He lurched forward. Maybe if he just made a few more notes for morning, he’d be able to crack on right away without wasting any time. He could mull things over during the night and arrive at work bursting with new ideas.

  His finger remained over his PC’s off button as he waited for the momentary silence to fill his office. A door banged shut and the familiar noise of Gregory locking up drifted in. Tim scraped back his chair, switched off the light and walked towards Gregory, coming to a halt less than a foot from Gregory’s back.

  “Tim! For heaven’s sake, don’t go creeping up on me like that. Made me jump right out of my skin.”

  “Haha, sorry, Danny. Didn’t mean to give you a fright. I only meant to catch up with you for a review before you took leave.”

  “Right, good idea. Go on then.”

  “Okay. I spent the morning at the scene, interviewing witnesses and casting an eye over things. Found one or two interesting artifacts. A trainer torn to shreds and blood samples. These, along with the remains of Mauve, pointed to the fact that we have a werewolf on our hands.”

  “Yes, and what did the coroner say?”

  “His preliminary examinations concurred with the theory. Narrowed it down to three possibilities: a lion, a sabre-toothed tiger, or a werewolf. Said a domestic animal, not even a dog covered by the Dangerous Dogs Act, could have cut into the bone so deep.”

  “Yes, and the first two of those scenarios are not very likely, are they? So, for now at least anyway, I’d say it was pretty safe to assume that we have a werewolf on our hands and we should conduct the investigation accordingly. Would you agree?”

  “Yes, I would.”

  Gregory’s expression was that of a tramp that had passed up on a forged note, only to find out later it was the real thing. “Tell you what, Tim, I knew we should have pursued this line of enquiry months ago.”

  “Maybe so.”

  “No maybes about it. How long have we been saying now that there’s a werewolf on the prowl?”

  “True, but we were lacking proof.”

  “Yes, it had all gone quiet for a bit and I falsely assumed it had gone away. You’re never too old or experienced to learn something new, Tim. Remember that and you won’t go too far wrong.”

  “Thanks for the advice, Danny.”

  “No similar incidents over in Wiltshire for a while now, Tim. It too has gone quiet, just like over here, well, with regards to animal attacks anyway.”

  “It’s a bit strange If you ask me.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Well, they usually can’t wait to report anything can they? It’s like they have their own private hotline at times.”

  Gregory looked at him with a blank expression. “I wouldn’t say that, but I agree with you in principle anyway.”

  Tim felt himself blushing. “Well, it’s almost like they’ve moved from over there to over here.”

  “Know exactly what you mean, Tim. Exactly what you mean.”

  “Glad you understand me.”

  Gregory shook his head. “Sabre-toothed tiger!”

  “Well, to be fair, it would have needed huge canines to penetrate that deep. They do say there’s dinosaurs living in Loch Ness, Danny, so why not—”

  “Yes, yes, spare me the palaeontology lesson, Tim.”

  For the second time in a matter of minutes, Tim blushed, this time flickering a glance at the floor for good measure. “Sorry, Danny.”

  “Have you found anything that might lead us to identifying a suspect?”

  “A few things. First, one of the witnesses brought to my attention the fact that the dogs know its scent. As it was dark and none of the soldiers could get a clear view, the dogs could turn out to be our prime witnesses. Another witness did say he saw what appeared to be a man or a beast howling at the moon.”

  “Very interesting.”

  “The coroner also said that DNA tests identified the perpetrator as having red or blond hair.”

  “Anyone come to mind?”

  “Not immediately. But I did go for a drive around town, took a few photos of people that we might use for identification purposes at a later date.”

  Gregory scowled. “Now look here, I’m all for showing some initiative Tim, but next time make sure you—”

  “I know, Danny, run it past you first.”

  “Precisely. Renegade behaviour can only lead to all sorts of problems.”

  “Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again, sir.”

  “Good to know.”

  “One more thing, Danny.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, as I mentioned earlier, there was a trainer. Torn to shreds. Looked like someone might have shifted while wearing it. Size eight.”

  “Oh, so we’re on the lookout for a man with red or blond hair of average height?”

  “It would seem so. Anyway, we have a trainer and a pack of dogs that know the scent. We’ll have them out tonight. See if they can find anything new.”

  “Are you going to be present at the scene?”

  “Yes. I’m going home now to have a quick shower and grab a bite to eat, but I’ll be out with one of the units later on.”

  “Keep up the good work, Tim.” Gregory put his bag on the floor, freeing up his hands to put his jacket on. “So, if you don’t mind, I must dash. Let’s catch up later.”

  “Of course. I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Oh yes, Tim, please do. The minute anything new comes up, you let me know.”

  “Will do, Danny, will do.”

  Tim got in his car and headed straight into town. Running into traffic, he slowed down, affording him the opportunity to get a good look at the pedestrians. His eye did run over someone with blond hair and they were wearing trainers, too. He pulled up and took his phone from his pocket. He was just about to take the photo when the person in question looked up at his mother and burst into tears, ruling out the possibility completely. A werewolf with remorse was not likely, after all.

  +++

  Malaprop’s Bookstore, Bicester, England

  The full moon shone in through the curtains of the little window near the ceiling of the room. Ronnie pounded at the cage, the fever of his infection making him more agitated than normal. It didn’t take long for him to break through his chains, and he soon heaved at the metal bars this way and that, bending them.

  Karl and Tarquin, exhausted from staying up so late, watched nervously.

  “D’you think those bars are going-” Karl started to ask.

  Suddenly, Ronnie r
ipped one of the bars out and hurled it backwards into the cage. It crashed against the wall.

  “Get back!” Karl shouted, pushing Tarquin into his chair and out of the way. He started to move towards the cage at vamp-speed, but already Ronnie had squeezed between the remaining bars. Fired up and feral, he lunged towards the door, knocking Karl backwards with such a force he flew back against the other wall.

  In an instant he was out of the basement, crashing through the shop. Karl was too dazed and hurt to vamp-speed after him. Tarquin heard the sound of glass shattering above them. Ronnie had made it through the front door, and out onto the street.

  “Are you ok?” Tarquin asked, scrambling to get up from where Karl had pushed him.

  Karl grunted, getting to his feet. “Yeah,” he gruffed eventually. “But Ronnie is gone, and I couldn’t hear which way he went.” He shook his head, contemplating his next move. “I should get after him…”

  Tarquin shook his head. “No point if you don’t know which way he went. We need to find another way to handle this.”

  +++

  The moon shone high in the sky and the streets were deserted. Stepping out in the open, Ronnie’s eyes darted around for anything he might have missed. If anyone saw him, the game would be up. The human part of his mind, which was becoming more and more aware during his transformations, knew this for sure. Once certain that he was in the clear, he walked gingerly along the street, led by the moonlight.

  Up above, a plane came into view, flickering red. Ronnie fought his instincts and managed to stop himself from dashing for cover. The people looking down from the sky couldn’t see him; they were no threat at all. He put one foot in front of the other and proceeded along the sidewalk. A few seconds later, still in the clear, he broke out into a trot. With each streetlight he passed, he gathered more pace, until finally, he let himself go.

  The lamp-lit lines of the streets dashed towards him, the shops all a blur, guiding him along the pedestrian area and onto the main road. To the left lay a back alley, which he knew would take him to where he wanted to go.