A Spell in the Country

by Heide Goody

  “Yeah,” said Jizzimus, untangling himself from a hairdryer cord. “Before you looked like someone had given you an extra set of backwards knees. Could’a been useful, if you ask me.”

  Jenny stared at her bare legs and wiggled her toes. There were some fading bruises but no indication of broken bones, past or present. “Um. Thanks,” she said.

  The woman shrugged. “Well, I did run you over. Not entirely sure why you were sitting in the road though.”

  “I was chasing … something.”

  “Something?”

  Jenny frowned. “Yes. I saw a creature.”

  “Creature?”

  “A monster. In the dyke.”

  “A fish?”

  “No. Definitely not a fish. It had arms and a face. The thing was twice my height.”

  The woman smiled at her charitably. “I did hit you quite hard.”

  “I’m not making it up.”

  The woman nodded. “I’ve lived on the Fens for most of my life, Jenny, and I don’t think I’ve seen any monsters.”

  The woman knew her name. Jenny hadn’t given it to her, and her purse and all her ID were over a hundred miles away in Birmingham. Jenny abruptly re-evaluated the opulence of the bedroom around her.

  “Is this Eastville Hall?”

  The woman nodded.

  “And you’re Mrs du Plessis.”

  “Natasha.”

  Jenny shook the offered hand. “I’m taking up one of your guest bedrooms. I’ve not turfed out a spa client, have I?”

  “We’re rarely full.”

  “I’m on the course thing Effie Fray is running.”

  “I know,” said Natasha. “I do sometimes glance out of the window at the comings and goings on the rear lawns.”

  Natasha du Plessis’s smile made Jenny blush to the roots of her hair. Natasha smiled even wider.

  “I think it’s good to … let your hair down every now and then. And I think this course for witches is a bold and interesting experiment.”

  “She means she thinks it’s a load of codspunk,” translated Jizzimus.

  “We’re really grateful that you’re allowing us to use your facilities,” said Jenny.

  “Happy to help. Just remember, there are other ways to become the best witch one can possibly be.”

  “I think I’d just settle for being a happy one.”

  Natasha’s face darkened a second. “Don’t settle for second best, Jenny. You have potential.”

  Jenny held back a scoffing laugh for fear of offending.

  “Anyway, I am glad to see you are on the mend,” said Natasha. “But I have duties to attend to.” She rolled her eyes. “The burden of management. Go back to sleep. I will have some breakfast sent up.” She left, closing the door softly behind her.

  “Breakfast in bed,” said Jenny reflectively. “At least some things are looking up.”

  “What you talkin’ about?” said Jizzimus. “I bring you brekkie in bed all the time.”

  “Yelling ‘It’s sausage time!’ while I’m asleep, then slapping me in the face with an undercooked banger does not constitute breakfast in bed.”

  “You’re spoilt, guv. Tha’s your problem.”

  “So,” said Effie, managing to imbue the single syllable with a sense of disappointment, annoyance, resignation and optimism, “it appears that, having one day at Eastville Hall to reflect on matters, Sabrina has decided not to continue with this course.”

  “Did she say why?” asked Dee.

  “I merely received the message that it ‘wasn’t for her’.”

  “She means it was beneath her,” said Norma, in tones suggesting she harboured similar thoughts.

  “Did she say anything to you yesterday?” Dee asked Shazam.

  “You know she doesn’t talk to me much,” said Shazam. “Though she did insist on separate treatments after Mr Beetlebane got a bit bitey in the sauna.”

  “This is obviously very sad,” Effie continued, “and I will be getting in touch with Sabrina to discuss the matter. On a more immediate and practical note, this does mean that, given it relied on Sabrina’s family contacts, our planned trip to the Pendle Library is off.”

  “Oh, that is a shame,” said Norma.

  “I think that Sabrina throwing in the towel is more of a downer than a cancelled trip to Oxford,” said Caroline.

  “Cambridge,” corrected Effie.

  “Whatever.”

  Norma huffed. “This ridiculous love-in residential holds few points of genuine interest for a professional witch such as myself, but a chance to visit the Pendle Library of Witchcraft was one of them. I was particularly keen to read the scholarly articles on the Peatling Magna incident in two thousand—”

  Effie interrupted: “That is no longer possible. So, I thought we might spend today looking at another aspect of the course: astrology, divination and other forms of fortune-telling.”

  “This is my point entirely!” spat Norma. “What could you possibly teach me about fortune-telling?”

  “Nothing at all, Norma dear,” said Effie blithely. “Which is why I thought you might be able to lead much of today’s teaching.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Shazam. She pulled a slender catalogue out of her handbag. “I could do with some guidance. I’m looking to buy a new crystal ball and deck of tarot cards, and I wasn’t sure what to go for. I’ve been using my Woodland Faerie Folk deck of late but I’m not sure if it has the right magical oomph.”

  “Oomph?” repeated Norma.

  “Mmmm, yes. Celeste says I should perhaps try a Dreaming Angels pack, or maybe a Tranquillity Gems, but I’m not sure.”

  “Celeste?” said Caroline.

  “Yes. She runs the One Stop Sorcery shop where I get all my things.”

  Norma reached over, snatched the sparkly purple catalogue from Shazam’s hand and scrutinised it, her expression furious. “Bloody Americans and their ridiculous nonsense! They’re not real witches. If they weren’t ten thousand miles away, I’d give them a piece of my mind!”

  “Oh, they’re not based in America. Their main shop is in Skegness.” She pointed at the mail order address sticker on the front of the magazine.

  “Skegness?” said Kay.

  “That’s about fifteen miles thataway, isn’t it?” said Dee.

  “Fifteen miles,” blustered Norma. “Ten thousand miles,”

  Caroline cleared her throat and looked at Effie. “Do we still have the minibus booked for today?”

  “Today’s plan is fortune-telling, Caroline.”

  Shazam let out a sudden, “Ooh, ooh, ooh!” as though she had sat on a ice cube.

  “What?” said Effie.

  “And we could visit Zoffner the Astute.”

  “Who?” said Caroline.

  Shazam gave them all a gently patronising head shake. “The world’s greatest psychic. I’m surprised you’ve not heard of him. He’s co-owner of One Stop Sorcery and gives audiences at his monastic cave.”

  “Cave?” said Dee.

  “In Skegness?” said Norma.

  “Minibus,” said Caroline.

  “Well, I’m certainly not going,” said Effie. “I was going to drive to Cambridge, now I’m afraid I will need to stay and make a call to Mrs Holder-Eckford to discuss Sabrina’s departure. I’m not sure anyone else is licenced to drive a minibus.”

  “I’m an ex-copper,” said Caroline. “Minibus, police van, same thing.”

  Effie sighed in defeat.

  “We’re going for a trip to the seaside?” said Dee, smiling.

  “To a supposed witchcraft shop and ‘the world’s greatest psychic’,” said Effie firmly.

  “With a fish and chip lunch,” said Caroline.

  “And donkeys,” said Dee.

  “Where’s Jenny?” said Kay.

  “Ah, yes,” said Effie. “The second piece of unfortunate news. It appears that Jenny, while you were off enjoying your innocent Sunday morning pursuits, decided to pick a fight with a passing motorcar. She’s
all right—” she added, holding out a calming hand towards Kay, “—in fact she’s recuperating right now in one of the luxury suites at Eastville Hall.”

  “Jammy Jenny,” drawled Caroline.

  “Yes,” said Effie. “But I wouldn’t recommend it as a way to get your room upgraded.”

  Within in an hour of waking, Jenny was up and about. Partly testament to Natasha du Plessis’s healing skills, partly to how bored one can get in a bedroom with no books, no TV, no phone and only an imp for company. An imp who regarded a game of ‘guess what animal I’m pretending to hump’ as the height of entertainment.

  “I give up,” Jenny said. “No idea.”

  “Aw come on, it’s easy, guv. Look.”

  She ignored his lewd mimes, got up and dressed. There was a blood-edged rip in her jeans and a large tear in her top: evidence of vanished injuries . She grunted at a slight ache as she slipped her shoes on. “Let’s explore,” she said.

  “Fairy snuff,” said Jizzimus, bounding out of the door ahead of her. “But I told ya: this place is jus’ old ladies in paper knickers getting mud packs. Once you’ve seen one colonic irritation, you’ve seen ’em all. By the way, it was a camel.”

  Jenny looked up and down the corridor. “Camel?”

  “I was ’umping its ’ump,” said Jizzimus. “Tha’s funny, that is. Comedy gold.”

  The wallpaper looked so expensive, Jenny was afraid to touch it. The carpet felt so rich and plush she felt she was vandalising it just by standing there.

  “I can show you where the acupuncture place is,” said Jizzimus. “We can practice on some old biddy. I reckon they’re so full of gas an’ dust that they’ll deflate if you prick ’em jus’ right.”

  “I’ve never been to a spa before,” Jenny told him.

  “That’s cos you learned ’ow to wash yourself. An’ you don’ need to pay some ’ired flunky to do it for you.”

  “It’s nice to be pampered,” she said.

  “I pamper you.”

  “When?”

  “I do your toenails.”

  She looked at him. “You gouge toenail cheese from under my toenails and eat it on toast. That, I can categorically confirm, does not constitute pampering.” She walked ahead, inspecting the doors of the rooms they passed.

  “Dun’t like Sausage Time. Dun’t like Cheesy Feet Friday,” muttered Jizzimus. “Dunno why I bovver sometimes.”

  Jenny knocked at a door with the words Treatment Room on a brass plate. When there was no reply, she eased it open. Inside was a curious mixture of plush décor and clinical equipment. There was subtle recessed lighting, a large portable lamp on a wheeled base and a green cubicle curtain. Jenny reached out a hand to pull back the curtain and then hesitated.

  “Go on,” said Jizzimus. “It might be the Wizard of Oz be’ind there. You know, the bastard git out of that ’orror movie.”

  “What if it’s—?”

  Jizzimus was already pulling the curtain aside. Behind it stood an adjustable hospital bed in which a woman with cropped ginger hair appeared to be asleep. Her arm was elevated by a stand clamped to the side of the bed. An intravenous tube ran from the woman’s arm to a machine. Was it a dialysis machine? A blood transfusion device? Whatever treatment the room was used for, Jenny was fairly sure she didn’t want any.

  “Look,” said Jizzimus. “They’re even pumpin’ stuff into people who are too lazy to drink. Reckon you could suck on that gubbins like a straw guv? It could be mojitos or blood or summat nice.”

  “Shush,” said Jenny. “We’re trespassing.”

  The woman’s eyes snapped open and locked with Jenny’s. There was a cold accusatory look to the gaze which made Jenny more uncomfortable than she wanted to admit.

  “Sorry! I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  The woman’s free hand moved with surprising speed and latched onto Jenny’s wrist.

  “I was just looking for the exit,” said Jenny. “I didn’t mean to—” She checked the medical wristband the woman wore. “Lesley-Ann, is it? Mrs Faulkner? I’m sure you need your rest. Sorry for interrupting.”

  Jenny pried the woman’s fingers away and backed out of the room, Jizzimus scampering after her.

  “That woman looked seriously unimpressed,” she hissed.

  “She jus’ don’t wanna share ’er mojito, does she? Let’s see if there’s some spares in ’ere, shall we?” Jizzimus tried to yank open a door; it was locked. “Key’s in the door boss. Shall we?”

  “No, come on. There’s definitely stuff we’re not supposed to mess with here. Let’s go and find the others.”

  Jenny found the entrance hall and the currently unmanned reception area. They nipped out through the open front door and then hurried towards the annexe. A minibus was coming down the drive. Caroline was at the wheel, and it looked as though everyone else was in the back.

  “Hey!” Jenny shouted, giving Caroline a wave. The minibus crunched to a halt.

  Dee threw the side door open. “Jump in. You’re just in time.”

  Jenny clambered in. “Where are we going?”

  “Skeggy!” said Shazam from the back row.

  “We’re off to the seaside?” said Jenny. “I’m a mess. Look at this.” She poked a finger through the huge rent in her top.

  Dee slammed the door. Caroline crunched the gears and pulled away. “Then it’s also a shopping trip for you,” she said.

  “Oh, I’m sure we can mend that,” said Dee. “Slip it off a minute, poppet.”

  “Um. No. I’m not taking my clothes off in public,” said Jenny.

  “Again,” Caroline added.

  Dee leaned across and, with a snatch of sung incantation, encouraged the ripped threads in Jenny’s jeans to knit back together again.

  Meanwhile, Kay asked, “What happened to you?”

  Jenny was about to explain when Norma cut her off with a sharp “Ah, ah, ah!”

  “Today’s focus is fortune-telling and divination,” she said in her best schoolmarm voice. “We shouldn’t need to ask Miss Knott anything. Her past, present and future is there to be read. And how shall we read it?”

  “I’ve got my Woodland Faerie Folk deck,” said Shazam.

  “Pfff! Put them away. Better still, throw them out the window.”

  “But … but they’re pretty,” said Shazam, very quietly.

  “Tea leaves!” said Norma. “There has never been a more reliable tool for augury.”

  “Hang on,” said Caroline, patting her pockets with a free hand. She clicked her fingers. “Damn it, I’ve left my teapot back in my room. However, I predict that Norma is going to be getting a bit hot under the collar today, based on the fact I can see her woollen vest peeping out from her blouse.”

  “Facetious,” said Norma, adjusting her garments. She pulled a number of sealed plastic cups from her mighty bag. Brown leafy sludge sat in the bottom of each. “A good witch also travels prepared.”

  She passed a cup to Jenny. “Swirl and throw away the tea.”

  Jenny did as asked, pouring the dribble of tea out of the window.

  “Now, let everyone see.”

  Jenny passed the cup to Shazam.

  “Right,” said Shazam. “Now, I’ve read the chapter in Zoffner the Astute’s book. Let me see… The present is represented by the leaves near the rim.”

  “Very good,” said Norma in a tone she might use to congratulate a dog which had learned how to do calculus.

  “Um, this looks a bit like a snake. That could mean adversity. Did something bad happen to you, Jenny?”

  Jenny nodded politely. You didn’t need to read tea leaves to see something bad had happened.

  “But what?” insisted Norma.

  Shazam poked a lump of tea. “It looks like a fat Michelin man. Did you have a puncture in your tyre?”

  “Er, no.”

  “Next!” said Norma.

  Shazam passed the cup to Kay. “I’m more of a coffee person,” said Kay and quickly passed it on to Dee.
>
  “A witch reads tea leaves,” said Norma.

  “I believe some do use coffee grounds,” said Dee.

  “Coffee,” said Norma distastefully. “I’ll have no dealings with foreign muck. It’s British tea for British witches, and that’s the end of the matter.”

  “Surely, our tea comes from India,” said Caroline.

  “Yes,” Norma conceded. “But it’s British Indian tea and that’s what’s important.”

  Dee put her eyeball right up to the cup. “The man thing is in a dense clump of leaves. That’s a dark sign. And … and there’s this stain leading from it down to the base. Whatever it is, it will have impact on your future.”

  “But what is it?” Norma demanded.

  Dee attempted to peer closer, an act that would be impossible without getting tea leaves in her eye. “Going out on a limb here, sweetness,” she said, “but did you have a fight with a giant invisible monster of unspeakable evil?”

  Jenny gave her a frank look and said nothing.

  They passed through villages with names like Friskney, Wainfleet St Mary and Wainfleet All Saints and the landscape – pancake flat and dyke-edged fields punctuated with the occasional building – did not change one iota.

  Abruptly, Norma yelled, “Stop!”

  Caroline slammed on the brakes and they slid, dust flying, into a small layby. “What is it?”

  “Out! Out!” Norma all but pushed them from the vehicle.

  “Are we on fire?” asked Shazam, trying to settle her unsettled cat.

  “Look! Look!”

  Norma dragged them to the rear of the minibus and pointed at a sad, squashed lump at the edge of the road.

  “Oh, poor badger!” said Dee.

  “Haruspicy,” said Norma. “The reading of entrails.”

  “What?” said Caroline.

  Norma crouched. There was a pocketknife in her hand. “It’s much the same principle as tasseography,” she said, merrily sawing open the dead creature’s belly. “It’s about shape and form and opening oneself up to the realm of what might be.” Norma peeled back skin and flesh and let a pile of innards slip out onto the dusty ground. “Now, who can foretell a future in what we see here?”

  “I can foretell I will not be eating lunch today,” said Shazam.