A Very British Witch Boxed Set

by Isobella Crowley

  Ronnie glanced over Moseley’s shoulder at the man opposite, growled again, and jangled his chains as he shifted around uncomfortably in the cage, which he found even more confining in his were form.

  “Oh, no need to take that attitude, no need at all.” Moseley looked over his shoulder and called out at the man opposite. “You enjoyed your tests, didn’t you?”

  The man crouched down on all fours and grunted.

  “Feeling perfectly chipper today, aren’t you?”

  The man leaped to his feet, threw his arms in the air and howled like a wolf.

  Ronnie stared at him, furious and frightened.

  “Well, must be going. The chaps will be along soon.”

  “RRRAWRR.”

  Simon smiled and stepped back. None of this fazed him.

  “Well, cheerio.”

  Ronnie scowled, returned to the back of his cage, and slumped against the wall, awaiting his unknown fate.

  Chapter Nine

  Bicester Vintner’s, Bicester, England

  The vintner’s was deserted. No customers, no suppliers to deal with, and no Karl. Scarlett glanced at the clock, noting that it was almost lunch time. For three whole hours, she’d stood there with nothing to do but think.

  Noticing a woman looking through the shop window, Scarlett smiled, stood up and straightened her dress. She produced a well-drilled, enticing smile and in no time at all, the door opened. The woman, who carried a newspaper, stepped in, bringing with her a refreshing draught.

  Talking in a typically British upperclass accent, the woman asked for some kind of expensive wine that they didn’t have. It wasn’t until she’d left the shop that Scarlett realized she’d forgotten her newspaper.

  She hunched forward, opened the newspaper and rested on her elbows. As usual, there was nothing much going on, nothing to make her morning anything interesting. She felt so bored that part of her wished Karl would come bursting through the door and start ordering her about.

  Karl was with them earlier, when she’d gone to inquire about Ronnie. If they’d found anything, he’d surely be back by now.

  Another thought occurred to her.

  Amanda might well be in danger. But how to warn her? She couldn’t very well just come out and tell her that her boyfriend was a mythical creature.

  Her mind went to what Ronnie might be capable of in were form.

  Out of desperation, she took out her phone and started browsing the local news for clues of where Ronnie might be. When some strange headline caught her eye, she noted it and moved on to the next story. However, it wasn’t long before the headline registered and she swiped back in the opposite direction.

  The door swung open and the bell sounded. Instinctively, Scarlett stood up straight and smiled politely at the doorway. Knowing how customers hate feeling under pressure when they first enter a shop, she was mindful of not staring too intently. That was why she didn’t notice who it was until he coughed to grab her attention.

  “Tim!” She hesitated a moment, assimilating. “This is a nice surprise, what are you doing here?”

  “Just thought I’d drop by to say hello to the prettiest shop assistant in Bicester.” He flashed a smile and broke eye contact.

  “Well, I’m glad you did.”

  Her expression fell.

  “What’s up? You been busy?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Hardly. Never known it to be so quiet. The morning’s really dragged.”

  “Oh, poor you.” He leaned forward, resting his fingertips against the counter, looking Scarlett in the eye.

  “What about you? Good day?” She moved in closer and screwed her eyes to get a good look at him. “Oh my God, what’s happened? Looks like you haven’t slept all night.”

  Tim nodded.

  “What, you mean you haven’t?”

  “No. I’ve been working all night long. I’m just on my way home now.”

  “Well, seeing as you’re here, could you help me with something?”

  “Of course, what can I do for you?”

  “Well, I was bored so I started browsing a local news app.”

  “Anything interesting happening?”

  Scarlett furrowed her brow as a thought occurred to her. He knew a lot of people in the police and government departments. “No, not a thing. Apart from … Mauve the cow. Poor Mauve!”

  Tim stood up straight and folded his arms.

  “Do you know anything about this, Tim?”

  “Well, a thing or two.”

  “This isn’t—this isn’t why you had to shoot off the other morning, is it?”

  “Shoot off? When did I do that?”

  “You know, when I was looking for my shoe and you came in, mumbling something about a message and ran out.”

  Tim chuckled. “Oh yes—shoegate.”

  Scarlett laughed, then looked in his eyes with a softened expression. “Yes, the morning of shoegate as you so eloquently put it. Well, is this in any way connected?”

  Tim’s eyes darted around the shop, like a cornered wolf. “Yes, it was connected with that, loosely. Very loosely.”

  “What does loosely mean? Was it connected or not?”

  Tim rubbed his eyes, then looked around the room while he gave it some thought. “Yes. Honestly, anyone would think we were in Wiltshire.”

  “Wiltshire? Why Wiltshire?”

  Tim rubbed his eyes again, making them puffed, as if he’d been thumped. “Well—I’m not really sure, it’s just that, I’ve heard one or two murmurings around the base that— Well, they’re only reports, but it seems that every day we get reports of animal attacks.”

  Scarlett pretended to look astonished. “Every day?”

  “No, not every day, they’re not that frequent, thank God. But once a month, certainly.”

  Scarlett gasped. “I— I had no idea. Well, I have heard one or two rumors circulating about wolves wandering into this area from time to time. Stupid really, they’re only rumors, but I could ask around more, if you’d like.” Best to give Tim the filtered information, than to have him find a witness that leads him to Ronnie, she thought. It sounds like he’s already on to the lunar pattern.

  “Oh, you’re such a good sleuth, my dear. A proper Sherlock Holmes.”

  She smiled. “Thanks.”

  He grasped her hand. “Just to be clear, this isn’t—what was it called? —The Hound of the Baskervilles?” Though he appreciated the information, he was eager to dissuade her from the conversation before it turned to werewolves.

  She scowled at the insinuation.

  “Sherlock Holmes, that was fiction, wasn’t it?”

  She sighed, as if she knew exactly what was coming next. “Yes. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.”

  “Well, there you are then. Wolves on the rampage—it’s in the realms of fantasy. Doesn’t happen in real life.”

  Scarlett folded her arms. “Well, what was it then?”

  “Most likely a large dog, pit bull or rottweiler or something.” He knew he was lying.

  She sensed this wasn’t his real theory, but went along with him. “Well, yes. As I said, it was just a rumor.”

  “A coincidence, nothing more, my dear.”

  “Of course it is.”

  “Not even Sir Arthur Conan Doyle suggested that werewolves might actually exist.” Tim mentally kicked himself. Crap, why did I say that?

  She laughed. “Werewolves? Do you believe in them? I certainly don’t,” she lied. Yup, he knows.

  Tim shook his head. “No, of course not. Well, I have to be making tracks.”

  “Busy afternoon ahead, Flight Lieutenant Clarke?”

  “Well, one or two things to do. A few leads to follow. The usual.”

  She laughed at the idea of anything usual at this point.

  “You look so pretty when you laugh. What about you, anything exciting?”

  “Yeah, I’m going to have a whale of a time standing here for the rest of the day. I’m even starting to wish that Karl would come
back, start ordering me about, throwing his weight around like he usually does.”

  “Oh dear, things must be bad.” He leaned forward and examined the back of her hands.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Just checking there are no hairs sprouting out of your knuckles.”

  Scarlett laughed.

  “Phew. At least now I can go home tonight safe in the knowledge that you’re not about to go all supernatural on me.”

  “It’s not a full moon tonight.” She stated in a flirtatious manner.

  Tim chuckled. “Good point.” He looked over his shoulder at the door.

  “Oh, well then, I’d better be off. See you soon, yes?”

  “I would hope so.”

  He gave her a simple kiss and then strode to the door.

  “Bye,” she shouted across the deserted store.

  Tim stepped outside, waved over his shoulder, and shot off along the pavement.

  Scarlett delved into her jacket pocket, fingers fumbling over her phone, letting it escape from her grasp before she could place it on the counter.

  “Damn,” she said out loud, bending to lift her phone from the floor. Phone on the counter, she opened her contacts and paused. She couldn’t involve Amanda in this. The names flicked upwards as her finger moved down. No, she thought, as the names flashed up on the screen. List exhausted, she put the phone down and sighed. She had just acquired the most astounding revelation, but had no one to share it with. She didn’t want to bother the crew while they searched so she would just have to be patient and wait.

  +++

  Jones’s Residence, Bicester, England

  “Follow me.” Tarquin marched down the stairs, through the back door, and into the car park. He waited patiently for Karl to settle himself on the passenger seat before igniting the engine and reversing through the gates. Once on the road, they devised a plan of action.

  Karl was the first to speak up. “Right, once we get there, it’s straight in to look for signs of life. If we don’t find anything, we scour the house.” He glanced at Tarquin. “And let’s not be too conspicuous, eh? I don’t want the world knowing or even suspecting my business. The last thing I need is people thinking I’m in league with a magician for heaven’s sake.”

  Tarquin grinned. “Perish the thought.”

  “And let’s not take all afternoon about it. I have more important things to do than go chasing after some middle-aged delinquent that doesn’t know how to control himself.”

  Tarquin nodded. “Agreed. On both fronts.”

  “Let’s get on with this. I want to get back relatively early so I can check up on things at the shop, since I’ll have left Scarlett on her own most of day, and God only knows what she is up to there with that inquisitive mind of hers.”

  Tarquin grinned. “Come on, I’m sure things are fine. You can trust her. I can see it in her eyes, not to mention she is now strangely a part of things.”

  “She’s very young still.”

  “Whatever you say. Now come on, let’s just concentrate on the matter at hand. We have a werewolf or man to track down and we can best pray for the latter.”

  The car slowed and turned onto a street that was lined with houses. A woman appeared, pushing a pram along the otherwise deserted pavement.

  Tarquin smiled. “Bet she doesn’t know one of her neighbors is a werewolf.”

  Karl laughed.

  A few more doors along, the car slowed to a crawl. “This the one?” Tarquin asked, flashing a glance at Karl.

  “Yes, that’s his truck.”

  Tarquin pulled up beside it in the driveway.

  A chilly breeze nipped at them as they got out to investigate. Karl peered in through driver’s window of Ronnie’s truck. “No prizes for cleanliness.”

  He made way for Tarquin to have a look. “Nothing to see here.”

  “Look, Tarquin, if we don’t get a move on, we’re going to raise a few eyebrows. That woman we saw earlier knew we were up to something, I could just tell.”

  “You sure this is the right place?” Tarquin said as they stepped onto the garden path.

  “Absolutely.”

  Tarquin stopped in his tracks. “Doesn’t look like there’s anyone in, does it?”

  Karl shook his head. “No, it does not. But if he’s out, he must be somewhere in the locality or else why would he leave his truck?”

  They stopped a few feet from the doorstep. Glancing around at the windows, they each held their breath, trying to block out the background noise.

  A TV set blasted around the street, but that was coming from a neighboring house. Cars continually drove past along the road behind them. If Ronnie was home, they weren’t going to know from the outside.

  Karl brushed past Tarquin and made two more strides towards the front door. It was locked. Bending down, he shouted through the letterbox. “Hello, Ronnie, you in? It’s Karl. I’ve got Tarquin with me.”

  No reply.

  He turned to face Tarquin. “No good, he’s not in. We’re going to have to break the door down. Or pick the lock.”

  “Do you know how?”

  “I used to do it often, but not for a while. Luckily I grabbed my old kit from the shop before we left, just in case. Stand back, I’ll give it my best shot.”

  Karl’s hand moved over each of his pockets, coming to rest in the deep side pocket of his jacket. He spent a second searching before pulling out a small, flat container, smiling triumphantly. “Knew this would come in handy.”

  He opened the case, selected his tools, and went to work on the puzzle. Five minutes of twisting, turning, trying the door handle, and frowning followed, before the lock clicked and the door swung open. Turning around to look at Tarquin with a smug grin, he held open the door and said, “Be my guest.”

  Tarquin moved his hands to his mouth and called out, using that nasal kind of voice that people use when shouting through clasped hands. “Hello?”

  No answer.

  Moving on towards the living room, Tarquin gestured for Karl to follow and whispered, “You have a look down here for any clues of where he might be. I’ll go upstairs.”

  “Okay, but regardless of whether you find anything or not, make sure you get some clothes. If we do end up finding him, I don’t want to be in the car with a naked guy. That would look more than a little suspicious, don’t you think?”

  Tarquin grinned. “Okay, deal.”

  Karl looked around the living room and kitchen while Tarquin searched the upstairs bedrooms and baths.

  “No luck eh?” Tarquin asked from the top of the stairs.

  “No. you?”

  “Not a thing, but I’ve had an idea.”

  “Well come on then, bring some clothes and tell me about it.”

  “Won’t be a minute. I just need to find a hairbrush.”

  “A hairbrush?”

  “Yes, a hairbrush.”

  “Why in God’s name do you want a hairbrush? You won’t find him hiding in there, you know.”

  “Karl—just stay put. I’ll be down in a minute, okay? Just trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

  “Okay, but get on with it. We don’t have all the time in the world.”

  Karl shook his head. He stood shifting his weight from one foot to the other, tutting and mumbling under his breath while Tarquin ransacked the place upstairs.

  Roughly five minutes later, Tarquin appeared at the top of the stairs, hairbrush in one hand and a pile of clothes under his free arm.

  “So, what’s with the hairbrush?”

  “Scrying spell.”

  “Scrying spell, what in the—”

  “I’m going to use magic to find him. We’ve no choice.”

  “Are you sure it will work?”

  Tarquin nodded. “It will, believe me. I’ve done this a hundred times before.”

  “Well then, better get on with it.” Karl glanced at the time. “It’s not going to take long, is it? You’re not going to summon all the witches in the
place to come hither are you?”

  “No, don’t worry. It won’t take but a minute.”

  “And what about the house? Is it going to light up and start shaking, or be whisked off into space?”

  “No, no one will have the slightest clue. And we have to go back to the shop anyway.”

  Karl marched along the passage and opened the front door. “Come on, let’s get on with it.”

  Chapter Ten

  Cliff Rogers’s Residence, Bicester

  Cliff sighed, shook his head and strode towards his car. He had other, pressing things to attend to and he really didn’t have time to go hunting for this rogue werewolf. Yet, if he’d been around the night before, this surely wouldn’t have happened.

  Making himself comfortable in the driver’s seat, he thought back to the events of the previous day. Those kids, taking their time crossing the road, the receptionist with an attitude, those people that refused to let him retake his place in the queue.

  These were the people that had put him in such a foul mood. If it wasn’t for them, he would have taken Karl’s call and headed straight back to the bookshop after he’d seen the orderly. It was their fault that he hadn’t been there to stop Ronnie escaping. And if he’d been there, then he wouldn’t be going searching for him now.

  He hadn’t a clue where he was going, but he knew he had to do something or else the search would linger on for days.

  He’d had some experiences with werewolves and knew that they could be creatures of habit. They liked to frequent the same area, do the same things, retrace the exact footsteps that they’d taken the last time they’d eaten.

  He hung his head, deep in contemplation. He didn’t know much about Ronnie, but he did know he liked a run. Maybe, some animal instinct had guided him to the same route.

  He pulled out of his driveway and hit the road. He did have a vague idea of Ronnie’s jogging route. They’d got talking once and Ronnie had gone on and on about it. Cliff had resisted the temptation to leave him to it, but his mind had started to wander. He cursed himself for having such a short attention span. Sometime soon, he would have to improve his listening skills, as there might come a time when his survival depended on it.