A Very British Witch Boxed Set

by Isobella Crowley

  “Hello, Tabitha? It’s Tim.”

  “Scarlett’s Tim? Oh, hello Tim, how are you?”

  “Oh, not so bad. Certainly can’t complain anyway.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  “Anyway, have you seen anything of Scarlett this afternoon?”

  Tabitha’s voice turned croaky. “No. I haven’t. What’s been happening now? Honestly, that girl—she’ll be the death of me one day, just you see.”

  “Oh well, it’s nothing to worry about. I only saw her a few hours back, she can’t have got into too much trouble since then can she?”

  “Can’t she? You haven’t known her as long as I have.”

  Tim chuckled. “No, it’s okay, honestly. Nothing at all to worry about.”

  “Well in answer to your question, Tim, no, I haven’t heard hide nor hair of her all day. I thought she might have been with you. Was there a message you wanted me to pass on, in case she calls?”

  “Oh, no. It’s okay. I just have some news for her, that’s all.”

  Tabitha’s voice turned grave. “News? What type of news?” She finished the sentence with a quiver in her voice.

  “No, no, nothing like that. Nothing to worry about. In fact—it’s good news. It’ll certainly make her happy when she hears it. Make her day it will, her week even.”

  “Oh. I’ll just tell her you wanted to speak to her then, should I?”

  “Yes, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Okay then, Tim.”

  “Okay, Tabitha. Bye.”

  “Bye, Tim.”

  +++

  Aunt Tabitha’s Residence, Bicester, England

  Tabitha pulled out a chair and sat down at her kitchen table facing Tarquin. The worktop to her right was covered in a vast army of jam jars containing pickled vegetables. The sun shone in, making her left eye squint, exacerbated by her attempts to sneak a glimpse through the window at her garden, just to ensure that annoying blackbird hadn’t returned to eat her seeds.

  “You okay, Tabitha? You look a bit distracted.”

  “Oh yes, just thinking. Scarlett came ‘round on Saturday.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes. She was helping me with the pickling. Said it took her back to when she was a child.”

  Tarquin glanced at the jars on the worktop. “Looks like she was an efficient helper.”

  Tabitha nodded, then glanced at the worktop next to the window. “She stood there, talking about when she was a child and all. Took me right back, I can tell you.” She sighed. “Seems like only yesterday.”

  Tarquin’s expression told her that he knew exactly how she felt. “Great memories, Tabitha. But there’s many more to come.”

  Tabitha nodded. “Well, I certainly hope so. Has she been around your bookshop again recently?”

  “No, not since the other day. Haven’t seen a thing of her since. It almost seems like she’s a bit too quiet.”

  “Mmm,” said Tabitha, nodding to herself. “I had Tim on the phone earlier. Wanted to know if I’d seen her. Sounds like she’s done another of her disappearing acts on him. And, funnily enough, Amanda called too. Apparently that Cliff’s been sniffing around again.” She sighed. “I don’t know what to think. I really don’t.”

  “Cliff? I thought all that was ancient history now?”

  “You and me both,” she let out another sigh, “I always knew something was wrong with that child.”

  Tarquin chuckled. “Now come on, you don’t mean that. You can’t make insinuations like that about your own niece.”

  Tabitha leaned forward across the table. “I would just feel better if I knew where she was. After talking to Tim I’m starting to feel like my concern is well-founded.” She made long, purposeful eye contact with him.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Scrying spell?”

  Tabitha nodded. “Yes, let’s do a scrying spell.” She rose to her feet. “One minute Tarquin, I think she left her jumper on Saturday.”

  Tarquin nodded. “Let me know if you need a hand finding it.”

  Tabitha walked into the living room and found it right away under a cushion.

  Tarquin looked up. “You got it?”

  Without answering, Tabitha dropped the sweater on the table. “You ready, Tarquin?”

  Tarquin got to his feet. “I certainly am.”

  The room filled with a kind of chanting that sounded like it predated the earliest known language. Tongues rolling, purring, all kinds of strange noises, both of them in perfect harmony. A tremor shot around the room, getting stronger by the second. The lights dimmed, then shone so brightly that they had to shield their eyes. They touched fingertips, closed their eyes and concentrated.

  Tabitha was the first to break the trance. “It’s no good,” she said, panting, “there must be some kind of blockage.” She shook her head, attempting to clear her thoughts. “No, not a blockage, more like—distortion.”

  Tarquin decided he needed a break too. “I know what you mean, Tabitha. You don’t think she’d… ”

  “Oh, no, she wouldn’t know how. She’s barely floating feathers.”

  Tarquin took a deep breath and puffed out his chest. “Let’s give it another go. Ready?”

  Tabitha stood up straight and focused. “I’m ready.”

  They started up with the chanting again. Just from his expression, Tabitha could tell that Tarquin was stronger this time. He just had a steely kind of look in his eyes that told her they were going to succeed, no matter what.

  Taking strength from Tarquin’s newfound show of confidence, Tabitha upped the ante and it wasn’t long before their chanting began to rock the room. First, the roof rattled, then the walls wobbled, then the tremor returned, sending the table and chairs sliding across the floor.

  No sooner had the shaking subsided than Tabitha felt her legs start to tremble and buckle at the knees. She reached behind her to steady herself on the kitchen sink. The water came on, filling the sink faster than it could drain, rebounding and splashing up off the steel sink, spraying Tabitha’s arm until it dripped. When the cold water engulfed her fingertips, she knew she couldn’t hold out much longer. This was taking far too long.

  Darkness engulfed them and something vaguely fire-like appeared in the center of the room. They chanted louder, giving it every last drop of strength they had. Tabitha again reached behind her to steady herself, this time putting her hand in the waterfall that was pouring from the sink and down the cupboard, making a pool on the floor around her feet.

  The tension showed on Tarquin’s face too. His breaths became deeper, his eyes grew wider, his teeth clenched harder. The fire started to fade. Tabitha weakened, her head drooped and the mumbling stopped.

  Bright red and panting, Tarquin staggered across the room to pick up two upturned chairs and brought them to where the table had stood. “Here. Sit down.”

  Tabitha did as she was told.

  Tarquin placed his chair opposite Tabitha and sat down, facing her. “Thought we’d nailed it that time.”

  Tabitha shrugged. “I’m getting old. I must be.”

  “No Tabitha, the spell nearly worked, you saw it. It’s just that something was blocking it.”

  Tabitha sighed and looked at the floor. “That wretched child is up to something. I know it.”

  Tarquin looked puzzled. “But I thought you said she isn’t—”

  “She isn’t. But she’s involved with someone—or something that is.”

  “You mean Tim?”

  Tabitha shook her head. “No, it’s not him. I’d have known. No, it’s no one we know. And whoever it is, they know a thing or two about the dark side of magic.” Tabitha shook her head. “After she promised me.”

  “But it might not be her fault. She might not know whoever’s doing this. Or, she might be under someone’s influence.”

  Tabitha looked grim. “Someone’s influence, or a spell.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Slater Residence, Bicester, England

  S
carlett jumped into her car and hit the road. It was only a short journey to her destination. Although it was a first-time experience for her, it might not have worked out that way. No, if things had turned out differently, this would be a route she’d know like the back of her hand.

  Pulling up outside the house, she honked her horn and, straight away, Cliff emerged through his front door. He got in, made himself comfortable on the passenger seat and they drove away.

  It wasn’t long before the memories started flooding back of the day when they’d found the body. The way the woman had come in screaming, the dark staircase, the smell.

  In no time at all, they were turning onto the road that ran behind Costa. They pulled up on the street, left the car and walked back around to the entrance to the flat.

  She had come prepared. Knowing that the door would be locked again, she picked the lock. It was one of the easier ones to pick thankfully, and one she’d studied on Youtube many times since her foray into the underworld, as she affectionately called it in her mind.

  Once inside, they climbed the steps, carefully closing the front door behind them so as not to draw suspicion. The darkness engulfed them forcing them to rely on their sense of touch to get them safely up the stairs to the flat above.

  At the top of the stairs, Scarlett attempted her lock picking trick. Between the darkness, the lingering scent of death, and the pressure, she fiddled without success. After a few minutes she stepped back, hot and frustrated.

  Cliff moved towards the door. “Allow me,” he said quietly. He pushed at the door almost casually, and it bounced open with quite a force.

  “Vampire strength,” he whispered, a twinkle in his eye.

  “Thanks,” Scarlett said, half smiling.

  Cliff stopped suddenly, thrusting an arm across her midriff. “Shhh.”

  “What?” she whispered.

  After a moment of tense waiting, Cliff relaxed. “I thought I heard something. It’s nothing,” he said, relaxing. The pair ventured into the flat, closing the door, now with a broken lock, behind them again. “So, what first?” he asked.

  Scarlett led him into the bedroom and pointed out all areas of interest. She watched and waited, waiting to see if he was going to make another joke about bedrooms. As Amanda would say, he’d had his daily quota of unfunny jokes. This time though, he was only interested in the job at hand.

  Cliff bent down to give each area a thorough examination, starting at the white skirting boards and working his way over the carpet. Shaking his head, he straightened and scoured the surrounding areas, looking for any clues that McMillan might have been involved in some kind of struggle.

  After drawing a blank in the bedroom, she led him into the bathroom. A couple minutes later, he emerged, shaking his head. “Nothing in here either.”

  Finally, she took him into the living room, pointed out where the body had been and the coffee table where she’d found the chocolates and the card. He bent over and started running his index finger over the wooden surface, taking in every detail. Cliff sighed, disappointment written all over his face.

  “No, nothing in here either. The police must have been more thorough than we’d thought.”

  “What about the phones?”

  “The phones, what about them?”

  “He had a phone in his hand when he died. We need to check for a signal. If there is one, we can rule out the possibility that he couldn’t phone for help due to a bad signal.”

  “Sure.” Cliff took out his phone. “Signal’s fine.”

  “Really?” her face slumped.

  “Scarlett, no need to look like that. You’ll find an explanation. You always do. I have faith in you.”

  “Thanks, Cliff. That means a lot,” she smiled. “Well, there must have been some other reason why he couldn’t have called for help. If the phone signal’s strong, why didn’t he just call an ambulance or something? Or maybe he’s just on another carrier, and he really didn’t have a signal.”

  Cliff looked like he was giving the question some serious thought. “Could be… or maybe someone could have planted it there.”

  “Put the phone in his hand you mean?”

  “Exactly that. They could have put it there after he’d passed out.”

  Scarlett narrowed her eyes. “Why would anyone do that?”

  Cliff leaned back against the wall. “To throw the police off their scent. Send them in the wrong direction?”

  “A red herring. Of course, why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Because I could be wrong. But my instincts are telling me that whoever did this, staged the whole scene, and went to a lot of trouble to do it.” He paused to reconsider. “Maybe this is a vampire thing. Not that I was involved in any way, shape, or form.”

  Scarlett chuckled. “Relax Cliff, I know it wasn’t you.”

  Cliff’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. His body was covered in blood. Not very professional.”

  Cliff laughed. “What are you trying to insinuate, Scarlett? I’m not that bad, surely?”

  “If it was you, you’d have gone straight for the jugular, no mess or anything. Just a small bite mark on the neck.”

  Still smiling, Cliff nodded. “Yes, you’re right, I’d have drunk him dry. Come on, let’s get on with it. I forgive you for the insinuation.”

  Scarlett sniffed the air and screwed her nose. “Errgh, I can still smell it.”

  “What?”

  “The smell of rotting flesh.”

  Cliff sniffed in every direction. “No, nothing.”

  “Can’t you smell it? Maybe it’s in my mind.”

  Cliff patted her shoulder. “The mind plays tricks on us all occasionally. If you were so repulsed, it’s only natural to imagine you can smell it.”

  Seeing the sense in this, she nodded. “You’re probably right. Come on, Cliff. Let’s just get the things we need and get out of here. This place is giving me the creeps.”

  “Sure. What do we need again?”

  Scarlett shifted her eyes upwards as if trying to remember. “Hair samples, so that’s his hairbrush. Raven was quite specific.”

  Cliff nodded. “Okay. Anything else?”

  “Things with sentimental value. Old photos, heirlooms—that type of thing.”

  Cliff scrutinized every corner of the room. “You look in the bedroom and I’ll take in here.”

  Scarlett left the living room and returned to the bedroom, looking out for any clues on the way. Everywhere she went, the smell of rotting flesh still lingered. She took a deep breath, just to prove to herself that she hadn’t been imagining things, which prompted her gag reflex to kick in again. Hopefully, she’d be able to grab what she needed and go.

  There was no sign of his hairbrush anywhere, nor were there any strands of hair lying around. There were some drawers, but they turned out to be packed full of clothes. After scanning the room carefully for any other possible hiding places, she came across a small set of drawers by the bed. “A-ha!” she whispered, reaching for the top drawer.

  Scarlett opened the drawer and her face sank. It was packed full of odds and ends including tissues, nail clippers, and scraps of paper. She slid her hand inside and felt around until her fingers touched the back, but still no sign of anything that might resemble a hairbrush.

  Frowning, she withdrew her hand, this time coming into contact with something long, thin and hard. It didn’t take her long to work out it was a comb.

  The top of each tooth was caked in dandruff. She held it up to eye level, examining the gaps between the teeth and grinned.

  After dropping the comb into her bag, she opened the second bedside drawer, finding it to be completely empty. She moved on the bottom drawer, placing her hand inside without looking. It was full of socks, but after reaching right to the back, her fingers brushed something hard and cold. She pulled the object out carefully, trying hard not to scatter socks all over the floor. It was a pendant on a chain. Turning it over in her hand, she
read the writing on the back, smiled and dropped it into her bag along with the comb.

  Scarlett left the bedroom to find Cliff, whom she found bent over, examining the wall behind the couch. “Cliff?”

  He stood up, his disappointment evident. “No, nothing, I’m afraid. Not in here, anyway.”

  She smiled. “Oh well, not to worry. I’ve managed to gather everything we need.”

  “You have?”

  “Yes, I have. Come on. Let’s get away from this terrible place. We have a lot more to do tonight.”

  “Agreed.”

  +++

  Tuesday Evening

  Raven’s Flat, Launton

  Scarlett waited for Cliff to fasten his seatbelt before starting up the car and shooting off back the way they’d come. Raven’s flat was on the other side of town.

  Everything was just as she remembered it. A quiet street in a respectable part of town, with respectable looking old people hobbling along the sidewalk. A line of trees separated the railings from the front lawn, beyond which was the flat block.

  Remembering how cunning she’d had to be to break in on the previous occasion, she looked at Cliff and grinned. “Come on. We don’t have long. This place is under police surveillance. “

  Cliff looked aghast. “What? Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

  “I, err, I forgot.”

  “You forgot?” He sighed, but soon recovered. “Okay, no problem.” He leaned over her lap and pushed open the driver’s side door. “You go ahead and go in.”

  Scarlett put one foot on the sidewalk, before turning back to Cliff. “What about the police?”

  He winked. “You leave that to me.”

  +++

  Cliff left the car and walked along the street, his eyes darting around in every direction, looking out for undercover policemen. First up on his radar was an old man with a walking stick. It was, admittedly, a long shot, but maybe this was the idea. They could have hired an old man for the job or dressed someone up to look like an old man. Either way, Cliff wasn’t prepared to take a chance.